That Which is Greater
by Frea O'Scanlin
Summary: What if, instead of being sent to an unattached Buy More worker, the Intersect winds up in the mind of a man with a life...and a daughter? Chuck, Sarah, and even Casey face hard truths about spying, life, and duty in this alternate telling of canon.
1. The Four Year Old Wingman

**A/N the First: **So it's been awhile since I updated What Fates Impose. If you go to my blog or follow me on Twitter, you know that I've been having some issues with writer's block lately, which is unfortunately part of life for a writer. It happens, it sucks when it happens, and sometimes I can force myself to write through it and sometimes I'm afraid to force myself to write through it because I don't want what I'm writing to suck (which, I know a lot of people claim that's impossible, but trust me, it really, really, really is possible). But the problem is, if I go for even two days without putting at least a few words to the page, I feel out of sorts and not like myself. Which is when I turn to what I call "doodle writing." This is writing that doesn't really challenge me all that much, and I can take it or leave it as I choose. It's also not up to my usual quality, I think; I just don't put a lot of extra work into it. If I want to write on it, I do. If not, I don't.

This "doodle" came straight out of a debate on the great blog **ChuckThis**, about whether Chuck is a normal guy, a spy, or a hero. I've always said it was lucky that Bryce sent the Intersect to a guy that had minimal obligations and connections. So...what if that wasn't the case?

**Disclaimer**: Let this serve for not only this chapter, but any and all following chapters-I am not making any money here. This is a hobby, done on my own time, and I've earned no revenue from it, nor do I claim any ownership of Chuck and anything having to do with Chuck.

* * *

**That Which Is Greater**

**The Four Year Old Wingman

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**

_The biggest problem guys tend to have is with the first line. The most successful pick-up lines are the ones that force her into a position to talk back to you. _

**— Sosuave(dot)com**

* * *

Sarah couldn't help but let the sarcasm flow. "Yes," she said into the phone, glancing up at the brightly-lit sign above the double-doors, "I see what you mean, Jerry. Clearly this guy is sinister."

"He is?" Incredulity sounded through the phone. "The directions say you're at a Safeway."

"I was being—never mind." Sarah rolled her eyes and debated briefly on the merits of a shopping cart. She decided to go with the handheld basket, and figured she probably shouldn't get any eggs just in case she needed to drop the basket quickly and give chase.

On the other end of the phone, Jerry Kleinfeld popped his gum. "You know, bad guys gotta eat, too."

"Uh-huh. Do you have that profile for me yet?"

"Just pulling it up now. I'll send it to your phone."

"Good, thanks. Appreciate your help, Jerry."

"Always glad to help a field rep." And then there was nothing but dead air. Talking to the geeks in the home office was always a risky venture. Most field agents would rather not, Sarah knew, as the nerds and geeks and dorks, whatever they called themselves, should probably never be left alone in public. Sarah usually went to Jerry, despite his chronic gum-chewing and habit of forgetting things like salutations and good-byes. He didn't leer at her over the phone. It was a start.

She cased the grocery store as she entered, an automatic habit. She preferred the small, intimate grocer's near her apartment in Maryland, as she knew all of the egress points and the cashiers by name. This grocery store was about five times the size of hers, and the early evening hour meant it was bustling with people headed home from the office. She smiled politely at the greeter and checked her phone. Right on time, Jerry's email came through.

Sarah's eyebrow lifted. So that was her mark.

He had to be somewhere in Safeway, as Jerry had tracked the GPS on his car. She hadn't snooped around it like she normally would have; she wanted to get a jump on this if she could. Who knew what her mark was into? Listed data put him right around her age, native to Southern California, graduate of UCLA. He ran his own software business and did moderately, it seemed. He didn't look like the type of person that stole government secrets, but then, Sarah had learned early on that the "bad guys," as Jerry had put it, looked just like the good guys.

Since she did need groceries—and something to eat for dinner, now that she was thinking about it—she killed two birds with one stone, collecting items as she walked the aisles. She wasn't much of a chef, and the hotel room didn't exactly have a very good kitchen setup, but she adamantly refused to eat Top Ramen. She'd had enough of that in college.

She would never admit to anybody that she found her mark by accident, or that she nearly ran him over. That was the sort of thing field operatives left out of reports.

But she rounded the corner at the end of the soda and chips aisle, and there he was, in living color. She immediately side-stepped to avoid a collision. Unfortunately, her mark wasn't as quick on his feet as she was.

It was like something out of those romantic comedies Sarah would never admit she watched on long flights. She tried to step aside, he went exactly the same way to dodge, and they smacked right into each other. Her basket hit the ground, and she was, in that moment, grateful that she had stuck to her policy of "nothing breakable" in case she needed to drop it and run. Little had she known she would genuinely be dropping said basket.

"Oh, geez, I am so, so, sorry. Are you okay? God, I really need to look where I'm going, I didn't break anything, did I? Are you okay?"

Sarah blinked. She'd never heard anybody babble quite that fast before. "I'm fine," she said, holding her hands out. She nearly knelt to pick up the basket, but those secret romantic comedies came in handy. Her mark was already bending over to do just that, and surely they would have bumped skulls.

_And my life is _not _a comedy, romantic or otherwise_.

"Are _you _okay?" she asked as the man retrieved the basket for her.

"I'm fine," he assured her, rising to his full height. She had to crane her neck a little to look up into his face. "I'm more worried about you. I don't normally treat the grocery store like a linebacker, but I didn't see you and are you sure you're okay?"

This time, Sarah had to smile, despite herself. Inwardly, she was categorizing everything she could—button down shirt, khakis, canvas sneakers, height, build. The picture in the profile must have been a few years old, as there were lines in the man's face that hadn't been there before, especially when he gave her a sheepish grin.

_This is not a man who looks capable of stealing _anything_, much less valuable government secrets_.

"No damage done, I promise," she said, storing away her first impressions to be evaluated later. "I'm pretty sturdy."

"I'm glad. Well, not that you're, ah, sturdy or anything or—" She saw him visibly stop and collect himself. "I'm glad you're okay. Here's your, ah, basket."

"Thanks." She couldn't have engineered a better meet cute if she'd tried—she'd planned to get behind him in line and strike up a conversation—so Sarah took the basket and gave him a smile. "In a hurry?"

"Ha, no, just didn't see you, I swear. You're not, like, a personal injury lawyer or anything, are you?"

"Veterinary assistant," Sarah said, making up a job off the top of her head. She pretended to stop. "Or, I was. Back in DC. Now I'm just another face. I'm Sarah. Sarah Walker." She held out her free hand.

Her mark looked both shocked and happily surprised. "Chuck," he said, shaking her hand. "Chuck Bartowski. Pleased to meet you, even if I had to bowl you over to do so. You said DC—are you new in town?"

"Just got out here this morning," Sarah said. "I'm apartment hunting. You wouldn't happen to know of any good places?"

Chuck, as he'd introduced himself, gave a small laugh. His hair was also longer than the profile picture, much curlier and unrulier. "I'm sorry, it's been years since I've had to house-hunt. I wish I could help you, though."

"Darn. Would have been too easy, right?" He didn't seem nervous, which told Sarah this wasn't his first barbecue with major thievery. Or, her brain chimed in, Bryce had been working alone. But the latter didn't make sense. Her preservation instincts warned her that she should probably escape before the conversation got awkward and he got suspicious; she'd have to get in line behind him later on after all and pretend it was unplanned. "Er, perhaps you could help me with one thing, though."

"Sure, what?"

"Croutons." Sarah held up a bag of pre-tossed salad. "I cannot for the life of me find them anywhere."

"Oh, that's easy." The smile returned in full force, and she couldn't help but smile back. "They're on the next aisle over, right near the front. My sister's a crouton fiend—you can't come back to the house without them on a shopping trip."

"Ah." Sarah filed that away: he apparently lived with his sister. That was an unexpected development. "Well, thank you very much for your help, Chuck."

"Not a problem. Welcome to LA."

"Thanks." She raised the basket slightly in salute and slipped past him before he could apologize for the collision again, hurrying past the end-cap of Little Debbie's snacks. She rounded the corner, much more careful this time. The aisle was pretty busy, but she could slip away rather easily and bide her time until Chuck was ready to check out.

Or she could have, if the child sitting in the half-full shopping cart by the end-cap hadn't taken one look at her and said, loudly, "Mommy!"

Sarah had escaped narrowly from death too many times to count. She'd had guns held at her head, been trapped in rooms with live explosives, jumped out of planes, karate chopped assassins and dictators alike. But none of that terror held a candle to the all-succumbing, instinctive fear that flooded her when the little girl with the curly brown hair and the blue eyes said "Mommy!" and smiled at her. Sarah froze.

Immediately, Chuck Bartowski appeared around the end of the aisle, a box of Twinkies clutched in his hand and a look of panic on his face as he looked around. His gaze stopped on her and his eyes widened.

"Oh, no," he said.

Sarah's instincts screamed that she needed to escape, to just keep going and flee all danger. But the rest of her was too busy being puzzled. The profile Jerry had sent her had said nothing about a kid or a marriage or anything, yet there was no mistaking that the girl in the shopping cart could belong to nobody but Chuck Bartowski, not with those curls and that smile. Sarah's eyes automatically cut down to Chuck's hand: no ring on his finger, nor any indent or tan-line that would indicate he'd recently twisted it off.

Chuck put her shock and silence to good use—and began babbling. "Sorry about that—she's going through a phase where she thinks every blonde woman is her mother, and you can imagine what kind of problems that causes, what with this being L.A. and all."

"I see." But Sarah caught the look on Chuck's daughter's face. The little girl was beaming up at her father, clearly pleased with herself. It cleared away most of her initial panic. "And you're sure this isn't just you using your daughter to pick up women, Mr. Bartowski?"

"Chuck," he said. "And no, not that I…" He trailed off and looked down at his daughter.

She beamed back up at him. "Hi, Daddy."

Chuck put his hand on his forehead and closed his eyes. "I've got a four-year-old wingman," he groaned.

"Wouldn't that be wing-woman?" Sarah hid a smile behind her hand.

She saw Chuck visibly collect himself for a second time, and it was just as endearing as the first time. "This is my daughter, Violet. And she was operating on her own, I swear. Violet, this is Sarah. Who is not your mother. As I suspect you knew." He ruffled her hair.

In a move that was sheer vanity, Violet straightened her hair before she smiled at Sarah. "Hi! Are you a chick?"

"I…yes?"

"That's good, cos Uncle Awesome always says Daddy has to go to the store cos it's a good place to pick up chicks." Violet continued to look pleased with herself. She opened her mouth to continue—which wouldn't have been hard, as Sarah was too busy fighting giggles at the look on Chuck's face to reply—but Chuck hurriedly covered her mouth with his hand.

"Here," he said, digging into his pocket with his other hand. "Play with this."

"Ooh," said the four-year-old, grabbing the cell phone away from him.

"Well, that was…mortifying beyond belief," Chuck said, once Violet was happily absorbed in whatever what was on the cell phone screen. He glanced down at his daughter. "She's going to reprogram everything and I'll never figure out how to work it, but that's okay. I'm very sorry, by the way. Not only do I assault you, but then my daughter tries to pick you up. I wouldn't blame you in the slightest if you were to, oh, say, run for the hills right now."

She was still reeling from the news that Chuck wasn't the single, dependent-less man his profile claimed him to be. And the fact that he had a kid made everything seem much messier, but Sarah wasn't the type to let opportunity go to waste. She tilted her head and gave him an inquisitive look. "Does it work?"

"Does what work?"

"Letting your daughter pick up chicks for you?"

"I…" This time, it was Chuck's turn to trail off. He looked vaguely seasick. "I wouldn't know, I've never tried it before, I swear."

This time, Sarah couldn't stop the grin. "Well," she said, "there's a first time for everything, isn't there?"

"I—what?"

"Like I said, I'm new to the area. I could really use somebody to show me around."

Chuck actually checked over his shoulder, as if he wasn't sure she was talking to him. "M-me?" he asked, pointing at himself. He cleared his throat, hurriedly. "What I meant to say is, sure, I'd love to serve as your guide to all things L.A. It would be my pleasure."

"Great! It's a date."

Later, Sarah slipped away from the shell-shocked Chuck and his daughter, having exchanged numbers and a promise to go out to dinner at a favorite place of Chuck's a couple of nights later. She had research to do, she knew. The man had given no hint that he was involved in the Intersect project in any way, but then, she hadn't steered the conversation that way at all. Now she had just had to find out why a man who seemed to love his daughter would be willing to put her in danger by stealing government secrets. Had Bryce acted alone? Was Chuck in on it? Her instincts told her it was the former, and if it was, then things were going to get even more complicated. But she'd been fooled before, and she wasn't going to let it happen again.

Still, when she heard Chuck turn to Violet and say, "Wow, Megabyte, your Uncle Awesome is right, you're pretty handy after all," she couldn't help but smile.

* * *

**A/N the Second**: So that's the first chapter. Short and sweet, I think. I've got two more chapters finished that I'll post in due time, and then the rest of the story will be written whenever I feel like it. I do have a plot, but I don't think I'm going to follow the traditional storyline for this one-if I want to write a scene, I'll write it-so we may jump around. It'll probably end up being more like a collection of one-shots, in all reality. Hope you liked it!


	2. Family Life

**Family Life**

Somehow a pint-sized velvet revolution was waged right under our very noses, and the grown-ups quietly handed over the reins. We have made concession after concession, until it appears that well-educated, otherwise intelligent adults have abdicated their rightful place in the world, and the littlest inmates have taken over the asylum.

- _The Three-Martini Playdate: A Practical Guide to Parenting_, by Christie Mellor

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"Wow, you're back later than I expected." Ellie Bartowski looked up from the pot on the stove as Chuck came in, juggling two bags and Violet. She was still wearing her scrubs from work, though she'd kicked off her sneakers. "Long line?"

"The worst. You forget about things like rush hour when your office is at home." Chuck took an appreciative sniff as he deposited Violet on the edge of the island counter so that he could set the bags down without dropping the eggs. "Smells like Aunt Ellie's making our favorite, Megabyte. If you're lucky, I bet she'll share."

Vi rolled her eyes at her father, and Chuck relived the moment of dread he always felt when she acted older than her age—the teenager years were far too near for his comfort. "Of _course_ she'll share," she said, as though Chuck were an idiot. "She's Aunt Ellie. She likes me more."

"It's true," Ellie put in.

"Hey, what am I? Chopped liver? I'll have you know, spaghetti and meatballs was my favorite first."

"That's just cos you're old."

"Oh, cut to the quick!" Chuck snatched Vi from the counter and tossed her over his shoulder, anchoring her with her legs. He spun, careful to avoid the walls and Ellie. Thankfully, the kitchen was one of the biggest rooms in the house. "Apologize!"

She giggled. "Never!" The giggles turned to belly laughter when he shifted and hung her upside down. "Never-ever!"

"You know, Aunt Ellie's older than Daddy. Are you calling _her _old?"

"Never! Aunt Ellie's pretty." Even upside down, Vi could turn on the Bartowski grin, which she did now, aiming at Ellie herself.

Ellie laughed and collected Vi from Chuck, holding her on her hip. Vi immediately burrowed in, resting her head on Ellie's shoulder. She was getting a little too big to be held like that for long, but the adults pretended not to notice. "That's right," Ellie said. "Saved by the Bartowski charm. Somebody clearly knows the pecking order around here."

"Comedians. I'm surrounded by comedians."

"It's your lot in life. Morgan's upstairs playing video games—he has a laptop that needs fixing, I think."

"Cool." Knowing Morgan would be fine if left alone for hours, Chuck began to unload the groceries onto the counter. He was stalling, and he knew it, but he still wasn't sure he hadn't hallucinated his strange encounter at the grocery store. "Hey, you know how you offered to babysit this weekend? You know, let me have a night off?"

"Yeah? You have a conference or something?"

"Or something." When Awesome wandered in, Chuck tossed him a bag of bagels. "Ellie, Awesome, don't freak out, but—"

Vi bounced. "Daddy's got a date!"

Chuck mock-glared at her. "It's not a date."

"Nuh-uh. She said it's a date. I heard her."

"You've got a date? That's awesome!" Awesome held a hand up for a high-five.

"Who with? Is she nice?" Ellie's eyes narrowed. "Wait a second, did you meet her at the grocery store?"

"Her name is Sarah, she's new to the area, and I'm just showing her around. And yes, I did meet her at the grocery store, where I first almost knocked her over and then my four-year-old hit on her in my stead."

"What?"

"What?"

"Teaching Vi to call random strangers 'Mommy' to help me start a conversation?" Chuck gave Awesome a look.

"Wasn't me, dude. But that's still awesome!" This time, it was Vi that received the high-five.

"Don't look at me," Ellie said, bouncing her niece on her hip. "That sounds like a Morgan thing."

Chuck turned. "Morgan!"

They all heard a clatter on the stairs. When Chuck, Ellie, and Awesome had decided to get a house four years before, the upstairs had been allotted to Chuck and Vi, while Ellie and Awesome took the master-bedroom on the first floor. The house was laid out so that there was a little sitting area upstairs, which Chuck used as a bedroom, leaving one of the rooms for Vi and the other as an office. Vi was technically supposed to use that room as a living room, but the reality of it was that the family all used the living room downstairs equally, Vi's toys sharing space with Ellie's medical journals and Awesome's free weights. Chuck kept his more mature video games upstairs on a high shelf, and his X-box held more kid's games than anything he and Morgan liked to play.

Of course, that didn't stop Morgan from trying to beat Vi's high scores in her games. It was a competition that suited both Morgan and his goddaughter.

Morgan appeared at the entrance to the kitchen. Like Ellie, he was wearing his work uniform, though he'd loosened his assistant manager's tie and the vest was nowhere to be seen. "Chuck, hey! You're back! How was the grocery store?"

"Ask your protégé over here," Chuck said, jerking his head at Ellie and Vi.

Morgan picked up the four-year-old for a piggy-back ride. "What's your dad talking about, Megabyte?"

"Daddy's got a date!" Vi bounced in place.

"That's excellent. Did you do like I trained you?"

"Yep, I waited for a pretty one and I called her 'Mommy' and it worked!"

"How pretty?"

"Really pretty!" Vi giggled.

Chuck shot his best friend a look. "Not cool, Morgan."

"Hey, it got you a date, didn't it?"

"Still, don't do it again. That goes for you, too, Violet Eleanor."

At her full name, Vi shrank against Morgan's back, but her look was more incorrigible than apologetic. Of course, that was par for the course. She hadn't inherited much from her mother—just her eyes and a sense of mischief. On a four-year-old, it was cute, even if Chuck knew Vi probably got away with more than she should have.

"When's your date, Chuck?" Ellie asked as she reached into a cabinet for the plates.

"Friday. Is that okay? I can reschedule if you're busy, since it's Sophie's weekend next week."

"No, no, that's fine. We'll have a movie night, stay in, and Uncle Devon can make his awesome popcorn. How does that sound?"

"Awesome!" Vi said.

"Indeed," Awesome agreed.

"Morgan, you're staying for dinner? Good, you and Vi can set the table while Chuck finishes putting up the groceries. And Chuck, don't forget to put your date on the schedule."

"Yes'm," Chuck said, giving his sister a sarcastic smile as he moved to do so. Even with the three of them effectively raising Vi together, one more parent than a traditional family, it took a fair bit of juggling with two busy doctors and a freelance software designer. They kept their sanity and stayed in Ellie's good graces by over-sharing their schedules—and Morgan's, too—on the massive wall calendar by the refrigerator. He frowned at the current date, right after the square marked, "CHUCK'S BIRTHDAY!" in bright red, ignoring the buzz of activity around him. Between waking up on the floor in front of his computer with no knowledge of how he'd gotten there and the chance encounter at the grocery store, it had been a very strange day.

Shrugging that, and the weird headache he'd had all day off, Chuck picked up the purple pen—social engagement—and scribbled in on Friday: "Date with Sarah W."

# # #

After the dinner had been devoured, the dishes cleaned, and the bath time (never fun for anybody, since Vi had an aversion to water that puzzled her family) and story time had finally passed, Chuck collapsed into his desk chair and bit back a sigh. His body ached, and he was tired enough to be weary, but friendship had to come first.

"And you're sure you can't take this to the Nerd Herd?" he asked.

"Not without getting blackmailed horribly." Morgan perched in the Morgan chair and gave the Prism laptop in front of Chuck a nervous look. "And Jeff and Lester don't handle Windows, you know that."

"I don't understand why you didn't fire those two years ago," Chuck said as he plugged the laptop in.

"They have their uses."

"As what?"

"Hey, they've saved us hundreds of dollars on sexual harassment training. All you have to do is tell the new workers, 'See what Jeff and Lester are doing? Do the opposite.' It's like magic."

"Uh-huh." The laptop was at least booting up, Chuck saw, which was more promising than the last few cases Morgan had brought to his attention. That hope quickly spiraled, however; Chuck hit a key and pop-up windows began crowding the screen, accompanied by audio. They were blurred and grainy, but—"Who is Irene Demova?"

"Get with the times, dude."

"_Dude_, if it doesn't wiggle or try to teach me Spanish, chances are I'm not going to see it."

"Good point. She's a Serbian, ah," Morgan looked down, "porn star."

Chuck ran a hand over his face. "You were using a Buy More display model laptop to look at porn?"

"It was late. I needed a break from all of the paperwork. Look, man, can you fix it or not? I don't want to have to take this to Big Mike, not after that whole incident with the scanners last week. I'm on thin ice as it is."

"Give me a couple days. I've got a contract to finish up, then I'll be able to devote my undivided attention to it."

"You're a miracle worker. Standard rate?"

"I'm tempted to charge you more since it's porn, but yes. Standard rate." Chuck closed the laptop lid, as he didn't want Vi wandering in and seeing that. He leaned back in his chair and laughed. "When exactly did you come up with the 'letting Vi call perfect strangers Mommy' ploy?"

"Brilliant, right?"

"Dangerous. I don't want my daughter talking to strangers."

"I told her to make sure you were right there," Morgan said.

"Thank heaven for small favors. I'll have you know you two managed to give me a heart attack." Chuck gave another half-laugh. "I heard her say 'Mommy' and I thought for sure Sophie was there. And then I come around the corner and there's Sarah standing there looking like she's seen a ghost."

"I will point out that it worked."

"Yeah, except I'm waiting for Sarah to call and tell me she's come to her senses after the double-barreled hit we gave her, and there's no date."

"Or," Morgan said, "you could look at this as an opportunity."

"For what?"

"Vi needs a mom. You need to start dating."

"Vi has Ellie and Awesome and me, she's okay. I don't need to date. I've got enough to do as it is."

"All right, point. But when's the last time you had a little Chuck time, huh?" Morgan got up and opened the mini-fridge, helping himself to one of the grape sodas. He tossed Chuck a beer. "Can't hurt, right?"

"Well, without Vi there going on about how it's my job to go to the store since it's a good place to pick up chicks, probably not."

"She's looking out for your best interests."

"She's looking for another adult to give her a present for her birthday next month," Chuck corrected.

"So mercenary. I'm a little proud." Morgan mimed shedding a tear. "And you know that's not true. Vi just wants you to be happy. You're a little off. Is something up?"

"No, just woke up with a headache and I haven't managed to kick it yet. I'd sleep it off, except I'm behind." Chuck managed a smile as he sipped his beer. "It's going to kill me when Vi starts kindergarten, except it's also going to be easier to get work done. Which is horrible, I know, but I'm so backed up on this project."

"Do you want me to take Vi tomorrow? I'm off, we can hit up the arcade on the Pier, make a day of it and give you a chance to work."

"Would you mind?"

"Not at all. Vi needs some quality time with the Bearded One."

Chuck pointed his beer at his friend. "No pretending she's your daughter to pick up chicks."

"Aw, c'mon, you know I wouldn't do that." Morgan finished off his grape soda, and tilted his head, obviously thinking about it. "I think that trick only works once in a week. Speaking of which: Sarah."

"What about her?"

"Is she hot?"

For a moment, Chuck was tempted to tell his friend that Sarah had a hunchback and a limp, just to get him back for what he had been teaching Vi. But what was the point of having a friend if you couldn't brag once in a while? "Really hot."

"How hot are we talking here? Nerdy hot like Poison Ivy or _hot _hot like Zatanna?"

"Like..." Chuck searched his brain. "Vicki Vale."

"Dude, do not joke with me. Nobody is as hot as Vicki Vale. That is the pinnacle of hotness."

"I would not make this up. She is Vicki Vale embodied. Possibly even hotter."

"Pictures, or you're lying."

"I don't have any."

"Why not?"

"What was I going to say, 'Hey, there, woman who has agreed to go on a date with me despite the fact that I tried to bowl you over and then my daughter confused you for her mother, could you stand still a minute so I can take your picture and prove how hot you are to my friend?'" Chuck rolled his eyes and took another sip of beer.

"Yes! Exactly that!"

"It's been awhile since you've dated, hasn't it?"

"You can tell?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I can tell."


	3. Close Shave

**Close Shave**

The challenge of planning a caper is to anticipate as much as possible and prepare accordingly. In addition to things like escape routes and contingencies in case you trip an alarm, you have to decide what kinds of tools you're likely to need and what backup items make the most sense to drag along as well.

– _Nine Lives: Confessions of a Master Jewel Thief_, Bill Mason

* * *

Did the man never sleep?

Sarah pushed back in her seat, wishing she'd picked something besides a Porsche when she had gone to collect her car for the mission in Burbank. The other cars might not be as cool or as fast, but at least they would have more leg room. Given that she had spent the past four hours sitting in the Porsche, staring at a lit-up window and wondering if Chuck Bartowski mainlined Red Bull to keep himself going, leg room was gaining more importance with every hour that passed.

She toyed briefly with the idea of taking a walk, shaking out the kinks in her legs and lower back, and rejected it. It was now past the time when a single woman could wander alone through the neighborhood without drawing suspicion. She would have to wait it out.

At least it gave her time to think. She'd spent the day doing research, and her findings had been exceedingly puzzling. Chuck Bartowski _did _have a connection to Bryce Larkin, but she couldn't find any communication between the two men any more than recent than five years before. The files she had uncovered had painted a picture of two friends, roommates at Stanford, rushing the same fraternity, member of the same honors societies, by all accounts inseparable. Until, Sarah thought, Bryce Larkin had turned Chuck in for stolen exams in their senior year at Stanford. All communication between the two abruptly ended. Chuck Bartowski had registered to vote in a new address in Echo Park, and a little shy of eight months later, had filed a petition for primary custody of one Violet E. Bartowski in family court.

And since then, not a word had passed between the two men until two nights before. She had done her digging and had even had Jerry do some as well, but it was like, to each other, Chuck Bartowski and Bryce Larkin didn't exist.

So why had Bryce sent Chuck the Intersect?

It didn't make any damned sense.

Maybe she just hadn't caught the communication. Chuck worked in encryption software, he was bound to be good at covering his tracks. And if he had stolen tests at Stanford, who knew if he could have graduated to stealing government secrets?

Except...that didn't really add up either. Sarah wasn't so foolish as to believe that all men and women with children were good or kind-hearted, but Chuck Bartowski seemed like the genuine deal. Her surveillance told her there were three adults living in the house with the young Violet: a woman that could only be Chuck's sister, Chuck himself, and a blond haired man that the voter's registration listed as Devon Woodcomb, but Sarah was going to assume he was the "Uncle Awesome" she'd heard about. From what she could discern, all three of the adults seemed to share Violet equally. She'd seen the four-year-old out in the front yard playing catch with her Uncle Awesome, had watched through the windows as Violet helped her aunt fix dinner, and then had rough-housed with her father on the living room floor until Chuck had flopped spread-eagle on the carpet, apparently faking dead. Things like that didn't exactly scream government conspirator.

And now, hours after the light in Violet's bedroom had gone off, and the rest of the house had gone dark, that same enigma was still up, evidently hard at work in his office. It was two a.m. the night before Sarah was supposed to meet him for a date—or the morning of, depending on how one viewed these things—and it didn't look like Chuck Bartowski was going to sleep for hours.

This was a problem for Sarah. She needed to get in and get a look at his hard drive. Since it looked like there was always somebody home at Casa Bartowski, Sarah would just have to sneak in under the cover of darkness. It was risky, but she'd done riskier.

Assuming she didn't fall asleep first. Chuck had outlasted her the night before; she blamed it on the fact that her body was still adjusting from the eastern time zone. Tonight, she was determined.

_Are you a robot_? The thought was aimed at the still-lit office window. _Get some sleep! Quit drinking Red Bull!_

Sarah Walker then discovered something new about Chuck Bartowski: he did not read minds. It took him another forty-five minutes before the lights in the office went out, and the lights in what was probably Chuck's bedroom came on. Sarah, who'd been nodding off with her forehead against the steering wheel, let out a sigh of relief. She gave it another half an hour, just to be safe, before she picked up her B&E toolkit, this time equipped with everything she would need to hack Chuck's hard drive, and sauntered across the street.

In this little quarter of suburbia, it looked like everybody else might be sleeping. _Perfect_.

She grabbed a branch and hauled herself up on the tree that ran alongside the house, right up to the window of Chuck's office. If Chuck and Violet still lived there during her teenage years, somebody would have to warn Chuck about this tree and its ideality for sneaking out, but for now, it served Sarah well. She shimmied across the branches, agile as a monkey.

Chuck's office window wasn't locked. Careful not to make any noise, she slid the window up. The first few times she'd done this, she hadn't been able to hear her own thoughts over the pound-thud of her heartbeat, but now there was just the familiar feel of adrenaline and thrill. She stayed still, crouched on the window sill and waiting to make sure Chuck hadn't woken, but the house was silent. Hearing nothing, she unfolded the toolkit and laid the flap of cloth across the desk, immediately getting to work.

It would have been smarter just to take the whole desktop so that the boys at the home office could look over it. But Sarah wasn't sure she could get it out the window without damaging it, and she didn't want to go through the house with so many people around. Besides, most of her wasn't even sure Chuck had even received Bryce's email; she'd seen nothing to indicate that he was harboring government secrets. And she didn't want to rob a potentially innocent man of his livelihood.

The computer stirred to life from sleep mode, and she set in to work, plugging in the device Jerry had Fed Ex'd over to her earlier that day, that would break the security encryption on Chuck's computer, which apparently had two accounts. She almost smiled to see that Chuck's was some sort of sci-fi glowy picture, and Violet's was a picture of a cartoon violet. Every minute waiting for the encryption breaker to work was an eternity, but she forced herself not to fret. Finally, Chuck's desktop appeared.

Jerry had warned her that cloning an entire hard drive would take a lot longer than she was willing to risk. So Sarah opened Chuck's email, hoping against hope that—

Email from Bryce Larkin.

So Chuck did have it. Sarah blinked before she copied the email to a hard drive. She would have to submit this as evidence to Graham the next morning, which left a sour taste in her mouth. She scanned the message, but there was no greeting or anything in the body of the email. Just a file sent from Bryce to Chuck.

And it wasn't even a very big file, evidently, for it copied over in a split-second.

It was foolish to waste time when she would have the opportunity to look over the file later, but Sarah couldn't resist. She double-clicked on the file.

Immediately, the screen went black, and Sarah went still.

Text began to fill the screen.

}attack terrible troll with nasty knife

Clang! Clash! The troll parries.

The terrible troll's mighty blow drops you to your knees.

}kill troll

(with the nasty knife)

You are still recovering from that last blow, so your attack is ineffective. You stagger back under a hail of axe strokes.

}kill troll with nasty knife

A furious exchange, and the terrible troll is knocked out!

_What. The. Hell?_

Bryce Larkin had sent Chuck a _video game_?

Sarah straightened, her brow crinkling as she tried to puzzle through it. The tech guys had said that Bryce, at the time of his—his death—they had said that there was a large email sent out to an IP address in Burbank. Had that been a ruse? Had Bryce really sent the Intersect somewhere else, and this email, this video game had been sent to Chuck Bartowski to send them on a mad goose chase?

It was devious enough to fit Bryce, but kind of cold to Chuck, in Sarah's opinion.

Frustrated and confused now, she clicked out of the game. She started to close down Chuck's email client, when another email in his inbox stopped her.

**MAILER-DAEMON. Your email could not be sent to this address.**

Without knowing why exactly that had caught her attention, Sarah opened the email. The original message was embedded after a bunch of code.

_Bryce,_

_Thanks for the Zork game. Haven't played it in years, but it was nice to spend a couple of hours on it today. It's just as cheesy as I remember. Also, what's new with you? Maybe next time you're in town, you should give me a call and we'll have a beer. A lot's changed since we last talked._

_Chuck_

_P.S. – What the hell is up with all of the pictures and why would you be sending this to me now? Not that I'm not grateful, it's just kind of random._

Not exactly the most acrimonious message on the planet, Sarah thought. Then she froze for what felt like the ninetieth time since she'd stolen into Chuck's office. Pictures? There hadn't been any pictures in the file.

But there would have been pictures in the Intersect files Bryce had sent.

For safety's sake, Sarah copied that email to her drive, trying to puzzle it out. So Bryce _had _sent Chuck the Intersect? If so, where the hell was it? She did a search on his computer for large files, but nothing came up but some movies.

The mystery would have to continue. _Looks like I'm keeping my date with Chuck Bartowski after all_.

Annoyed that she was even more confused, Sarah shut down the computer and reached for her toolkit. It was then that a sound in the hall stopped her cold.

"Daddy?"

Violet sounded nervous—or scared, Sarah thought. And sleepy, too.

She heard rustling from the other room: Chuck, no doubt. "What? Vi? What is it, sweetie? Can't sleep?"

"I heard something. I think something's in my closet again."

Sarah's eyes widened. Had she been too loud? Could Violet have possibly heard her? The monitor shut itself off, plunging the room into darkness. By all rights, she should make her escape now, but she couldn't seem to move.

This time, there was more rustling, which she had to assume was Chuck getting out of bed. "Okay, well, let's go check it out."

"Can't I just stay in here with you?"

"What, are you telling me your old man can't face down one measly little closet beast on his own?"

"But I'm scared."

"And I'll be right here with you. You know, I bet if there really is a closet beast, he's just as scared of you as you are of him."

"Her."

"Oh, so it's a beast-ette? Well, let's go see, Megabyte."

Mercifully, their voices trailed off, which meant that they had gone into Violet's bedroom. Sarah shook off the brief paralysis, grabbed her toolkit, and all but dived out the window, hurriedly and silently shutting it behind her. _Great_, she thought as she wormed her way down the branches and onto Chuck's front lawn, _now I'm giving four-year-olds nightmares. Excellent work, Sarah._

And now she had a little more than twelve hours to get some sleep, report in to Graham, and try to get to the bottom of this whole Intersect mess before her date with Chuck Bartowski.

- O -

"How come you're not wearing a tie?"

"Because it's a casual thing," Chuck said, though his daughter's question made him pause for a second. Should he wear a tie? Was this an event worthy of wearing a tie? Would Sarah like that more? He shook himself inwardly. Ellie had picked out his outfit for him; he would have to trust that she knew what she was doing. He grinned over at his daughter, who was sitting on the counter next to the sink while he shaved. She had her hair in pigtails, done up in bright pink barrettes that didn't exactly match Chuck's Batman T-shirt, which was to be pajamas for the night and fit her like a tent. "Besides, your Uncle Morgan warned me to never wear a tie on the first date."

"Why not?"

"Because it makes it easier for ladies to strangle you if the date goes badly." He removed the last strip of lather and rinsed the razor off before turning to Vi for inspection. "How do I look?"

Vi laughed and bounced. "Handsome!"

"Did I miss a spot?"

"Uh-huh!"

"Where?"

"Right..." Vi held a hand up, and Chuck obliged her by leaning over so she could reach him. She poked him in the center of the forehead. "Here!"

Chuck poked her back, gently, in the same place. "Well, if I did, so did you."

"That's silly, Daddy."

"Why is that silly?"

"Cos girls don't shave!"

"Oh, Aunt Ellie's going to have fun teaching you about that one in a few years." Chuck opened the after-shave and let her have a whiff, laughing when she wrinkled her nose. "Well, _some _ladies like it."

"Do you think Miss Sarah will?"

"I certainly hope so, Megabyte. I certainly hope so."

"So is Miss Sarah your girlfriend?"

Chuck paused. Dating in the modern age was complicated enough—and it had been five years since he'd been on a date, and even that had been with a long-term girlfriend—without having to explain it to a four-year-old. So he took the coward's route. "Why? Do you want her to be?"

"She's pretty. And if you can't date Princess Leia, then I think you should date Miss Sarah."

"Well, thank you for the endorsement."

"Besides, she looks like Tink!"

"Oh, she does, does she?" Chuck bit back a laugh as he wondered how Sarah might react to the fact that his daughter apparently thought of her as a life-sized Tinkerbell. The _Star Wars _reference, however, made him grin. To think he'd once been worried that the original _Star Wars _movies might be too scary for Vi. Now she had all but worn out the DVD set, which neither he nor Morgan minded, as it was loads better than watching _Dora the Explorer_. He picked up the stuffed teddy bear that shared quite a few things in common with Chewbacca, and held it out to her. "C'mon, let's get downstairs, I think Aunt Ellie has your dinner ready."

"You're sure you can't stay and eat with us?"

"But if I do that, Miss Sarah will be sad that she'll have nobody to eat with."

"Miss Sarah could come over here."

"Nice try, but nope, this date is for adults only." Chuck grabbed his wallet from his nightstand as he paraded Vi through the upstairs living room and to the stairs. "If things go well tonight, I'm sure Aunt Ellie will insist that Sarah come over for dinner, and then you can humiliate me—I mean, ask her all the questions you like. Sound good?"

"Sounds great!" Vi took off, racing down the stairs at a pace that always made Chuck stop breathing for a second. But the girl was nimble like a spider-monkey; once she'd gotten past the chubby stage, she'd sprung up like a weed and hadn't seemed to inherit her father's lack of coordination at all. He heard her greet Ellie and then the scrape of one of the stools at the kitchen island being pulled out. Since it was a special occasion, the others would be eating dinner at the island rather than at the table.

When he came downstairs at a much slower pace, Ellie glanced up from her magazine at the island, and he all but heard her go, "Aw!"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, "I know."

"What? I was just going to say you looked handsome. Doesn't he, Vi?"

"I already told him so."

"It's a first date, it's important to look good. You're not freaking out, are you? Tell me you're not freaking out. You have nothing to worry about."

"I'm not freaking out," Chuck said. "It's just dinner, El. Not a big deal."

"How is this not a big deal? This is your first date in years. This is a very big deal!"

"Okay, now I _am _freaking out." Chuck gave his sister a sour look as he opened his wallet and pulled out a post-it he'd written up that afternoon. "The numbers of all of the places we'll be tonight, and Sarah's number, just in case. I'll have my cell phone on, but in the case that something happens and ninjas attack me and feed my phone to piranhas, that's where you can reach me."

"We'll be fine," Ellie said. "Since Devon got called in, it's a girls' night. We'll paint our nails and watch chick flicks and pretend they aren't making us cry, right, Vi-Baby?"

"Aunt Ellie says I get to play with her make-up!"

Ellie gave the four-year-old a betrayed look. "Shh. You were supposed to keep quiet about that."

"Whoops." But Vi grinned.

"Yeah, right, whoops." Chuck crossed around the island to drop a kiss on the top of Vi's head before raising an eyebrow at Ellie. "Please don't let my daughter look like a clown when I get back."

"No promises. Have a good time on your date."

"Yes, ma'am. Violet, you listen to your aunt. When she tells you to go to bed, it's bedtime. Don't argue with her. And not too much sugar tonight, you hear?"

"Uh-huh," Vi said, though Chuck knew the chances of that happening were about as likely as Vader leading a parenting seminar.

"Shouldn't you be going now?" Ellie asked. "You're officially trespassing on our girls' night."

"All right, all right, I know when I'm not wanted. I shouldn't be back too late."

"Stay out as late as you like. We're not going anywhere."

"Ha-ha, mind out of the gutter, Sis. Nothing of the sort is going to happen tonight."

"Pity."

"Good night, Megabyte." Chuck snatched her up for one final hug-and-tickle before he headed out. After five years out of the dating game, he was getting back into the swing of things by going out with Sarah Walker. If that didn't count as jumping into the deep end feet-first, he wasn't sure what did.

* * *

Thanks to the great **seaboji** for giving me some source material to work with for Vi! And yes, that's actual text from the Zork video game (though in the game itself, you apparently kill the troll with Sting, and anybody who got why that reference works is a huge nerd, and we should be friends). Peace!


	4. Not a Cannibal in Sight

**Not a Cannibal in Sight**

Conversation topics really depend upon how well you know the person. On a first date, though, you're usually starting from scratch...Make sure you keep the conversation light; don't talk too much about yourself, but don't interview your date either.

- The Tartan, _Guide to the First Date_

* * *

He'd had to turn to Morgan for advice on where to eat, as it had been ages since he'd eaten somewhere without either a kid's menu or a laminated one. That had led to a long debate about the merits of Chinese food versus Thai versus Mexican versus Italian. The instant the word "fusion" had broken through the conversation, Chuck had put his foot down: the final choice was Mexican.

"Aren't you worried about bad breath, dude? Don't order anything with beans in it. Just trust me on that one," had been Morgan's advice.

Chuck had pointed out, quite rightly he felt, that it was a first date, and he doubted he was going to get anywhere near any point where bad breath might be a problem. Not with a woman that looked like Sarah. When he was alone and not focused on something else, he found himself searching his memories of the event—which were tinged with a sheer coat of mortification, thanks to his own clumsiness and Vi's precocious ways—to make sure he hadn't been hallucinating just how beautiful Sarah Walker was. He'd convinced himself that her beauty had been an illusion, that she'd had a strange birthmark, or maybe her eyes were uneven, or something.

He'd convinced himself of a lie, he saw now. Sarah was not only as hot as he remembered, but she'd gotten even prettier over the last couple of days. It shouldn't have been possible, but he was fairly sure it had happened.

Even more amazingly, she hadn't excused herself to go to the bathroom and never return, which he had been pretty positive would happen at some point in the evening. _The night's still young_, the doubting voice inside him pointed out, but he was starting to think maybe it wouldn't happen. After all, she was laughing at his jokes.

"So, yeah," he said, not quite believing his luck. "I live with my sister, and her boyfriend, Captain Awesome. And Vi, of course."

"Wait," Sarah said, holding up a hand to stop him. "Get out, you actually call him Captain Awesome?"

"Everything he does is awesome," Chuck said, faking solemnity. "Skydiving, white-water rafting...flossing. He is...Awesome. But yeah, I don't know, the nickname might not have stuck, but Vi for the life of her could not say Uncle Devon. So, Uncle Awesome he became."

Sarah helped herself to another chip. "And Uncle Awesome is easier to pronounce than Uncle Devon?"

"Not remotely, but Vi seems to have got a double dose of the Bartowski stubbornness." When Sarah tilted her head, inquisitive, he smiled. "She called him Uncle Awesome once, and I thought it was one of the funniest things I'd ever heard. And she likes making people laugh, so she kept trying, though she had a hard time with the letter 'S' for a long time. Usually, she'd get frustrated and just start calling him 'Unka.' But now Uncle Awesome is just a permanent thing."

"That's adorable," Sarah said. "It must be nice for her to have all of you around."

"Some days. More people to catch her when she's up to mischief," Chuck explained, seeing Sarah's eyebrows go up. "But on the other hand, more people to manipulate."

"You make her sound so..."

"Mercenary is the word we usually use." Chuck rested his elbows on the edge of the table, wrapping one hand around the other fist in front of him. He looked across at Sarah over his joined hands. "But I'm joking, mostly. She's sneaky, yes, and she has a way of getting what she wants more than I like sometimes, but she's a great kid."

Sarah took a sip of her water. "She's four, right?"

"She'll be five at the end of next month, yeah." Chuck felt nerves dance in his stomach, and tightened his hand around his fist. He knew what had to come next. Ellie had coached him about it, even. "You're wondering about her mother."

"I'm that obvious?" Sarah's smile seemed to make the nerves dance a little harder and the room seem a little brighter. Later on, Chuck would have to wonder about the incongruity of it all. "I'm a little curious, yes."

"Well, you can rest easy. I'm not out cheating on my wife with you or anything." Chuck attempted a smile.

"I wasn't worried. You don't strike me as the type to pull off his wedding ring to pick up women."

"No, I usually let my four-year-old take care of that for me."

"Hey, when it works, it works." Sarah picked up another chip and began to nibble. She gave him an expectant look.

He let out a sigh despite himself. "I'm not sure where to start."

"I'm told the beginning is as good a place as any."

"Point." Chuck took a deep breath. He wasn't necessarily a private person, as he'd always been friendly and well-liked wherever he went, but that was him. This involved more than him. "Violet is the result of a one-night stand. You'd think that sort of thing only happens in the movies, but trust me, it's real, I assure you."

"So you and her mother..."

"Sophie."

"So you and Sophie never even dated?"

"We tried to make it work for a little while, but we were just too different." To give himself something to focus on, Chuck picked up a chip from the basket, but he didn't eat it. Instead, he swirled it through the leftover rice and beans on his plate. "I'm not usually the kind of guy that has one night stands, but it was a...dark period for me. A guy I thought was a friend claimed I stole some tests at Stanford."

"Did you?"

"No, and I don't know why he would say so, except he did, and they expelled me. And so I went from being a scholarship student with an awesome GPA at Stanford to being some loser who worked at a Buy More and lived with his sister." Chuck didn't look up from the patterns he was drawing in the food with the chip. "My best friend Morgan got sick of me moping around, playing video games all the time, and he dragged me out to a bar. I met Sophie there, we got really drunk, and we hooked up. I honestly don't remember much about it."

"Understandable, if you were drunk."

"Then, yeah, Sophie found me, let me know she was pregnant, and it hit me then: I was going to have a kid. There was going to be somebody other than me depending on me. I couldn't afford to be that loser that works at the Buy More anymore."

"I highly doubt you could ever be considered a loser."

Chuck looked up. He didn't see censure or derision in Sarah's eyes. In fact, she looked almost sympathetic. It eased the tightness of his stomach somewhat, and he managed to grin. "I'd like you to tell me that with a straight face when I'm wearing that ridiculous green and yellow polo shirt."

Sarah leaned forward on her elbows. "I happen to think green's a good color on you." Her eyes flicked down to his shirt, which was patterned with pale green seersucker.

He felt the blush start at his neck. The sudden need to stammer and forget half of the English language only made it worse.

Thankfully, Sarah came to his rescue. "So how'd you go from the Buy More to your own business?"

"I petitioned UCLA to let me finish my degree, since Stanford couldn't prove I'd stolen the tests," Chuck said. "Ellie helped me get a second job, working nights as a janitor at the hospital, and I did nothing but study, work, and sleep until Vi was born. Some days I was too busy to even eat, which you can imagine was not a good look for me since I'm already a beanpole as it is. Then, after graduating, I went to work for Roark Industries for awhile. I made the switch over to working freelance a couple of years ago because I didn't like being away from Vi so much."

"She lives with you?"

"She spends one weekend a month with Sophie," Chuck said, nodding. He caught the brief flicker that crossed Sarah's face, and even though he agreed, he cleared his throat. "You know that show, _Crusader Point_?"

"I'm sorry, I don't really have time to watch TV."

"Too busy keeping the animals healthy?" Chuck asked.

"What? I mean, oh, yeah. I worked a lot of long hours in DC." Sarah looked down at the table for a second. "But you were saying—_Crusader Point_?"

"That's Sophie's show. She plays this detective of sorts, who can kind of see the future, I guess? I don't really follow it. Anyway, it keeps her busy, and she doesn't really have much free time." It was a blatant lie, and Chuck knew it, but it hurt to say that his little girl's mother didn't seem to want her. He'd sworn to himself long before Vi that his kids would never have to know the pain he and Ellie had known, growing up with a mother who had walked away and a father who had never really been there. And to have almost the same thing happen to his firstborn, it _hurt_. "And with me having Ellie and Awesome there, it just makes more sense for Vi to stay with me, you know?"

"But only one weekend a month? That seems a little cold, especially with a kid as great as Violet."

Chuck shrugged, and then froze as a thought occurred to him. "Wait, it's not weird that I have a kid, is it? Like, that's not ruining the date for you or anything?"

"Er, hate to break it to you, but there was pretty strong evidence you had a kid on our first meeting," Sarah said, a smile twisting the corners of her lips up.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant, I was just teasing. It's not weird at all—this is a casual date, right? It's not like we're," and Sarah paused for just a split-second, but Chuck caught the move, "going to hop a plane to Vegas tonight or anything."

"Drat. Does that mean I have to cancel our reservation? I got you an aisle seat and everything."

"Thoughtful of you."

"But I feel like we're talking about Violet and me a lot," Chuck said. "I'd rather talk about you, I think. Why the move, if you don't mind me asking? D.C. to L.A.'s a pretty big hop."

"Oh." Sarah hurriedly finished swallowing the water she'd been sipping and set the glass down on the table quickly. "Er, well. I just got out of a long relationship."

"Ouch. Was it bad?"

"Really bad. Things blew up. And when I realized that all of my friends were his friends, and everything reminded me of—Bruce, I decided to move. Make a fresh start of it all. It was either here or New York, and I hate being cold."

"Well, may I be the first to say welcome to L.A.?"

"You were. The other day."

"Oh, right." This time, Chuck did smack himself on the forehead. "I forgot about that."

"Don't worry about it. It's such a nice welcome, I was glad to receive it twice." Sarah leaned forward and squeezed his wrist, and Chuck wondered if she could feel his pulse speed up. If she did, she made no comment.

He covered by clearing his throat. "Do you like music?"

"Uh, it depends on the type, I guess."

"Well, what's your favorite band?"

Sarah's smile abruptly went puzzled. "I don't really have one."

"Don't really—don't really have one?" Chuck goggled at her. "Okay, that's it, we've got to get you a favorite band."

"Sounds like a good mission. Where do we start?"

"Normally I'd say the Beatles and work our way up from there, but there's this great band playing a few blocks away, and I was wondering if you wanted to check it out with me?"

# # #

She shouldn't be here. Graham had outright told her so, and Sarah knew it, if she dug too deep into the introspective side of her she didn't really like to use much. The NSA had officially caught onto Chuck's case, and it was supposed to be out of her hands now. She was nothing but the shunned partner of the man who had stolen the Intersect, and the investigation would be passed on through official channels.

If those official channels weren't John Casey, she might have agreed.

She'd heard stories about Casey; he was well-known through both agencies as being cold, relentless, patriotic almost to a fault. If she was an enigma, and a frightening one at that, Casey was as clear cut to the point of almost being unreal. He didn't let his quarry get away. And sometimes, he didn't let his quarry survive.

On the phone before Chuck had arrived to pick her up, she had laid out her very real concerns about this whole situation. She'd circled around the issue that day, going back and forth and arguing with herself, but she just couldn't believe that Chuck was in on it with Bryce. Her instincts told her that he was just an innocent bystander in this somehow, if that was at all possible. She could be wrong, but she didn't think so; her instincts had kept her alive for years in the spy game, so they had to count for something. Even so, she shouldn't be here right now, walking across an overpass with Chuck, on a date with the man.

And on top of that, she shouldn't be enjoying herself.

It felt disloyal to Bryce.

Chuck had parked out in front of the club, but it had been another twenty minutes before the band was due to be on stage, so they'd opted to take a walk. It was a nice night for it, and there wouldn't be much opportunity for conversation once they got into the club itself. She needed to get the conversation back to Bryce Larkin; it had drifted that way twice, but neither opportunity had been ideal to bring up, "So, hey, were you and this guy that got you kicked out of school involved in any government conspiracies? Together? Did you steal millions of dollars of government intel this week?"

She hadn't had many first dates, but even so, she was pretty sure that was the sort of thing you didn't talk about, like bursitis or...gout.

She and Bryce had never had a first date. It had just been missions, then sex, and then conversations that sometimes took the place of sex. Would things be different if they'd followed a more traditional path? Would he have let her in on his plan then? Or would she still be out in the cold, trying to puzzle out exactly where Bryce Larkin, Chuck Bartowski, the Intersect, and even herself fit now?

"Nothing?" Chuck asked, drawing her attention back to him as they walked over the overpass again. "No favorite book? What do you do in your spare time?"

She gave him a helpless look.

He backed off with a laugh. "All right, all right. I just find it kind of strange. No favorite book, no favorite music, no...favorite TV show?"

She shook her head. "Nope. I...I don't have a lot of spare time. My life in DC was all about my job, really. And my, um, boyfriend. I'm sorry, I must be the most boring person you know! Worst date ever, right?"

There was no reply. After a second, she realized Chuck wasn't even beside her anymore, and spun on her heel. Chuck had stopped and was staring out over the roadway below the overpass, looking completely lost in thought. For all of her jokes about being boring, she had never managed to bore anybody into staring off into space before. Was this normal? Did Chuck regularly shut off like an automaton? What was going on?

"Chuck?" she asked, reaching out to touch him.

At the contact, he seemed to jerk back to life. "What? Wha—no, no, this isn't the worst date ever. I've had—I've had much worse dates than this. I mean, this one time in the eleventh grade—"

"You have to go back that far?" Sarah laughed, though she wasn't quite ready to write off the whole encounter. "You really know how to build a girl up there, Chuck."

"If it makes you feel any better, it was a really, really bad date."

"How bad are we talking?"

"Um...multiple restraining orders? Would that bring me back into your good favor?"

"She took out a restraining order against you?"

"Uh, no, but the waiter, the violinist, the people at the next table, and a Russian ice skating champion that just so happened to be passing by right then did. I'm no longer legally allowed to go to any ice shows without a police escort, it's heartbreaking, really."

Sarah was still laughing when they went inside.

There was something off-putting about Chuck, she couldn't help but think when they'd reached the club's basement. He'd gone off to order them drinks, leaning awkwardly against the bar and trying to get the bartender's attention, to no avail. He was off-putting precisely because he made people feel comfortable, she decided. He had a way of seeming entirely wholesome and pure, which was not something she saw much these days, yet he still seemed to fit perfectly into the world at large. She'd already noticed that he had a habit of directing negativity at himself rather than letting others deal with it. The busboy at the restaurant had leered at Sarah rather obviously, which she was used to; Chuck had noticed and had offered to switch seats with her, making up some rambling story about how the light looked like it might be hitting her eyes at a bad angle, and that might be uncomfortable for her, and was she sure she didn't want to switch?

It was frankly downright endearing, she could admit in the part of her that would never surface. This man was too good for her, thief or not.

Sarah, recognizing the trend her thoughts were taking, attempted to head them off at the pass. She shouldn't be thinking about this, not when Bryce Larkin wasn't even cold in his grave yet.

Bryce, who hadn't even bothered to tell her what he was up to.

Bryce, who hadn't seemed to care enough to say good-bye.

Chuck returned with her drink and she made sure her face gave nothing away. The band was already on stage; she hadn't heard enough to call them _good_, but they were certainly energetic. The dance floor at the base of the stage was already crowded, bodies writhing in the amber wash of the club lights, but Chuck led her to a bench.

_Not much of a dancer_. It fit with the profile. She sipped her drink. Should she work the conversation around to Bryce somehow? Maybe get Chuck to slip? See if he revealed anything about the Intersect project?

She opted to go another route. "They're good," she called to Chuck over the music, nodding over at the band.

"Good! That's, uh, good..."

She was about to ask him what _his _favorite band was, but something out of the corner of her eye stopped her. Who would wear a G-man suit in a nightclub?

A G-man.

Or, more specifically, four G-men. Sarah looked around, scoping out the enemy while her blood pumped and the adrenaline began to kick its intoxicating rhythm. John Casey had arrived to extract Chuck, and he'd brought backup. Right now, she and Chuck were nothing but sitting ducks.

_Time to change that._

"C'mon!" she said, grabbing Chuck's hand. "Let's dance."


	5. Fuses

**Fuses**

Puppies that growl or bark at other puppies and then attack with ferocity are not aggressive or vicious but they are attempting to assert dominance. Puppies seldom injure each other in such circumstances, and it is well to let them work out their relationship if they will be seeing each other often.

- _Dog Owner's Guide, Tough Temperaments

* * *

_

"I'm not really—"

Sarah yanked. Chuck collided bodily into her at the edge of the dance floor. Even though it had been her intention, Chuck went bright red.

"—A dancer."

She might not know what to say in a conversation half of the time, but the dance floor, the training mat, the dojo—those were her stomping grounds. She was first and foremost a woman of action. Her instructors had claimed she was too prone to leaping without looking, but several times, that trait had saved her life.

Right now, however, she needed to rely more on her game theory lessons. She needed to get Chuck out of the club, keep him out of Casey's grip, until she could formulate her next step. And above all, she needed to keep Chuck calm, or others in the club might get hurt.

So she rocked her hips against his, wriggling up against him and maintaining direct eye contact. He looked like he might be a bit ill right then and there, but some buried instinct must have forced to respond, for he began to dance, mostly stepping to the side and back, and moving his arms.

_Now the fun begins_.

She had a knife in her boot, her tranquilizer-tipped hair sticks, and her S&W. She'd have to rely upon the former to get out of this situation, and Casey's men likely knew that. The only thing she had going for her was that they would have to play by the same rules—and she was very, very good at breaking the rules. Still keeping up a smile for his sake, she twirled around him, knelt, and retrieved her knife from her boot. The heels weren't exactly ideal for running, but she hadn't really expected Casey to try and make his move on the date, and she could hide quite a few knives in a calf-holster if need be.

Turns out she'd planned well. She threw the knife. It bit through the sleeve and the arm of the nearest G-man, pinning him to a post. She didn't have time to mourn his suit, which looked nice and would now be ruined by blood and the giant hole. She was too busy spinning back around in front of Chuck. He still looked on the verge of an asthma attack.

When she shook out her hair, he actually glanced at the ceiling, as though he might be offering up thanks to any random deity. It would have made her want to giggle.

Instead, she twirled again and flung both of the hair-sticks, tipped with an extraction from an African sleeping frog. The agents on the receiving end probably wouldn't enjoy his nap, as he was likely to be trampled on the dance floor.

_Not my problem_.

Another twirl and she was behind Chuck again. He looked back at her, so she did the first thing she could think of: she grabbed his ass. Immediately, he faced forward, but not before she caught a flash of panic. _Deal with it later. _ A dip, and she grabbed another throwing knife from her stash. She had no idea why the fourth target would come in so low—was he trying to tackle her?—but she stabbed upward, punching the knife into his stomach. She shoved herself backward, gave one prayer that the owners of the club cleaned their floor at least once a century, as she was fond of her top, before she leaned back and held her hands up for Chuck to pull her to her feet.

She didn't let go of Chuck's hand; instead, she hauled, yanking him from the dance floor. "We've got to go!"

"G-go? Okay, that's no problem, but—oh, there's an exit this way, who knew?"

Sarah shoved through the back hallway. She'd seen what she had to assume was John Casey standing by the primary exit, looking smug, but the club had two levels, there had to be a back stairwell and—jackpot. Still holding onto Chuck's hand, she burst through the door and began to muscle her way through the club, towing Chuck. Upstairs, the music was even louder, drowning him out. Waiting at the coat check for her jacket—and her backup weapons—took an eternity and a half, but apparently Chuck didn't think so, since the instant they hit the night air, she heard, "Seriously, where's the fire?"

"Where are your keys?" she asked, letting go of his hand to pull on her jacket.

"My—my keys? What? You want to drive? I don't think that's a good idea, I just got this car and—"

She didn't have time for this. Sarah grabbed her skeleton key, a gift from the boys at the home office, and unlocked Chuck's car manually. "Get in!"

He stood on the sidewalk, looking stumped. "How'd you get keys...to my...car?"

She'd have to explain later. "Get in!" When he didn't move, she started the car. Down the block, she could see a Suburban coming, and that spelled bad things. The NSA wanted Chuck Bartowski bad, and she was determined they weren't going to get him. "Chuck! Get in!"

He obviously spotted the Suburban, for he all but leapt into the passenger seat of his own car. "What is going on?"

Sarah cranked the car into reverse and shoved the gas pedal to the floor.

"Sarah! You're not even looking!"

She wasn't worried about that; the other cars were facing forward, they would move out of her way. Her main concern was that there were three men in the Suburban. Were they going to start shooting? She hoped not; they wouldn't be aiming for Chuck, and even if she'd accepted that she would die by a bullet at any time, she didn't want it to be right now. Chuck could get seriously injured if they shot her and she lost control of the vehicle.

He had a vise-like grip on the dash. "What the hell is going on? Sarah, what's happening, who are these guys?"

"Tell me when to turn."

"What?"

"Left or right!"

She had to hand it to Chuck; he kept his head relatively cool in a panic. He twisted around in his seat. "Uh, left! Five seconds."

"Your left or my left?"

"Uh—"

"Too late!" She went on instinct, cranking the wheel to the right.

_Whoops_.

She'd been in too many high-speed car chases to mistake that split-second feeling of weightlessness, followed all too soon by the juddering of the entire car around them. She'd guessed wrong. It must, her brain pointed out, completely unhelpful, have been the other left.

Well, it least it got them away from Casey.

After what felt like an eternity in the shaking, rocking car, they hit the base of the stairs. The world went temporarily blurry as everything swerved: Chuck, the car, herself. The car finally skidded to a halt in the middle of an abandoned road, the engine dying with a cough.

For a second, there was nothing but silence, nothing but the sound of her breathing, and Chuck's breathing, oddly amplified.

She knew better than to let an opportunity go to waste. "Chuck, you have to listen to me, these men are dangerous and they're after you. They're NSA, and they will hurt you."

"What? Why? I'm nobody!" Chuck's eyes were wide, the pupils shrunk to pinpricks. Signs of shock, Sarah deduced, but he seemed to be holding it together. "What the hell does the NSA want with me? And how do _you _know that? Are you some kind of—look out!"

She turned. A split-second was all it took: she tried to start the car, tried to shove them out of the way, but it was too late.

The explosion of the SUV slamming into the car seemed to fill her entire world.

# # #

"How well do you know Bryce Larkin?"

His brain had stopped working; this was a nightmare, this had to be, there was absolutely no way this could be happening, and even if it were happening, there was no way this could be happening to _him_. He hadn't lied to Sarah: he was nobody. He was beyond nobody. Sure, he'd worked for Roark Industries, and sometimes his job in encryption software meant that he handled sensitive information, but it was nothing of this nature, nothing that would mean car chases and running away from sinister bad guys in SUVs. Nothing that would mean calling for "emergency air-vac, track our location, we're on foot" like Sarah had less than two minutes ago. Certainly nothing that would draw the interest of the NSA. So what the hell? Why was this all happening? Chuck pushed on, following Sarah out onto the helipad, even though his thoughts seemed to exist in one unfathomable jumble.

The name of his old schoolmate, however, punched through all of that.

"Bryce?" he asked, not sure he had heard right. "How do you—how do _you _know Bryce Larkin?"

And when the hell were things going to start making sense?

Sarah leaped up onto the helipad effortlessly. It took Chuck a bit of scrambling to keep up.

"Bryce and I worked together at the CIA."

"What? Bryce Larkin is a spy?" And the situation just got weirder. He almost wanted to pinch himself to see if he was dreaming, but since he was fairly sure his body was still vibrating from the shock, both from his car—his _car_!—being T-boned by an SUV, then his brilliant little stumble to the pavement, then seeing his date come within inches of certain death without blinking—it was bound to add up. Adding the guy who'd gotten him kicked out of Stanford to the mess? There were several words used to describe situations like this, and Chuck would wash Violet's mouth out with soap the minute she even _thought _about using any of them.

Still unable to believe a single thing that was happening, he put his hands on his knees and tried to pant. At least Sarah had stopped running before he could really embarrass himself.

And he really, really needed to hit a gym.

He covered by asking what seemed like a very prudent question. "Bryce Larkin from Connecticut is a spy?"

Maybe they had a different Bryce Larkin.

"A rogue spy," Sarah said, and Chuck's gaze whipped up to her. "He contacted you three days ago."

"Yeah, he—he sent me an email." Wait a second, he'd been contacted by a rogue CIA agent? Wait a second more, his ex-best friend was a rogue CIA agent? "On my birthday, he sent me an email."

Sarah didn't seem at all surprised about that. "Think back, was there anything special about it?"

"It was a game, a game we used to—it was just Zork. I mean, it's nothing but a silly computer game we used to play back in college, except there were all these pictures and—Sarah, what is going on? Why is the NSA after me? What do they want?"

"They want the Intersect."

"The inter-what now?"

"It wasn't just a computer game Bryce sent you, Chuck." Sarah kept glancing behind him at the doors that led to the roof. "He sent you millions of dollars in government secrets. The NSA wants those secrets back, and they think you have them."

"Wh-what?" Chuck began to shake harder, and he didn't know if it was the adrenaline or sheer disbelief. This really, really couldn't be happening.

Except, apparently, it was. Because Sarah's eyes widened when she looked over his shoulder. Even so, the look she gave him was steady. "I may have to point my gun at you in a minute. Don't freak out."

"Point your—you have a gun? You brought a gun on a _date_? Sarah, _what_ is going on?"

"It's late. I'm tired," said a voice behind Chuck. He swiveled so fast he nearly lost his balance and tumbled onto his butt, but some latent gracefulness must have kicked in, for he stayed upright—barely. The man who'd just walked onto the helipad looked rather like an undertaker in his suit, but Chuck knew better than to make that comment. Something about the newcomer just screamed danger. It could have been that he was nonchalantly mopping up blood from the crash. Or it could have been that he'd apparently chased them out of a club, been in two car accidents in less than two minutes, and was still upright with barely a scratch on him.

Semantics.

"Let's cut the crap," he said. "Tired of playing games."

Games? Chuck had just seen his car smashed, his date nearly run over, and now this guy was referring to it all as _games_?

"What the frak?" he asked. "Who the hell are you? What do you want? If you want my wallet, fine, take it. I won't even cancel the credit cards, just leave the lady and myself be."

"Not after your wallet," the man said, pocketing his handkerchief. "Not some CIA gold-digger like Walker over here."

He was beginning to shake, Chuck realized, even more so than he had been a minute before. He tried to tell himself it wasn't fear, though he knew it was. His stomach had vanished, and everything felt strangely cold, but he wasn't going to just let some complete stranger push him around like this. Or push Sarah around, but he couldn't think about that right now because that was a whole new, scary kettle of fish. "Then what the _hell_ do you want?"

"For you to come with me quietly, so I don't have to shoot you."

Chuck blinked. "Wouldn't that just defeat the purpose?"

"I don't have time for this. Fine, I'll make you a deal. You come with me—quietly—and maybe I won't shoot and kill this traitor." The stranger jerked his head at Chuck's date.

Before Chuck could make an indignant retort on behalf of that date, the very same woman whipped out a gun—and pointed it right at him.

"CIA gets him first," she said, and Chuck went cold.

# # #

Well, this wasn't going according to plan.

Chuck had looked freaked out—justifiably so—since she had dropped the Bryce Larkin bomb, but he'd held it together, Sarah had felt. And when Casey had come up onto the roof with them, he hadn't started babbling or whimpering like some of her past assets might have; he'd even stood up for both her and himself. She was rapidly having to reevaluate everything about his profile, as she'd been forced to do at least twice this evening. Of course, she'd do that later, when she wasn't so worried about saving his life from Casey's brutish ways. She did the only thing she knew how: she bluffed and pointed her gun at Chuck.

Casey immediately drew his own Sig and pointed it at her. This range, there wasn't a chance in hell he'd miss.

"CIA gets him first. Come any closer, and I'll shoot," she said, and risked a glance at Chuck. He was staring at the gun in her hand, as though fascinated by it. He was still freaked out, but not nearly as much as he had been before she'd pulled the gun.

It nearly made her jerk in response.

John Casey evidently wasn't seeing the same thing she was, since he gave a sardonic little chuckle. "All right. You shoot him, I shoot you, I leave both of your bodies here and go out for dinner. I'm thinking pancakes."

Sarah nearly rolled her eyes. Why the hell did they always have to try and be witty?

Across the helipad, she sensed more than saw Chuck about to rabbit. "Don't move!" Her voice came out sharper than she'd intended. _Don't cause trouble. Let me handle this_. "Stay right there!"

Slowly, Chuck's face changed, transitioning from blank to something poisonous, something full of hatred and disappointment. "Go to hell."

"Look at that, a lover's spat already. I'm touched." Casey's voice said he was anything but. "Down on the ground, Bartowski, or I shoot Walker."

"Why?"

"Maybe I don't like the way she looks, or maybe my Corn Flakes weren't crunchy enough this morning. I don't really need a reason. What I do need is for Walker to stop this ridiculous charade and for you to come with me. You're under arrest." Casey looked absolutely bored, but Sarah wasn't fooled; she'd been in the business long enough to recognize when somebody was just as tightly wound as she was. One wrong word, and the situation became bloody and irreversible.

"Under arrest? What the hell for?"

The fear from before was entirely gone. In fact, his face was eerily expressionless, and the shaking had apparently stopped. The only sign of any outward emotion was his clenched fists. It was like an entirely different person stood in front of her now. This one wouldn't have laughed with her over tacos.

_Oh, crap_.

"Why do you think, moron?" Casey rolled his eyes. "You stole government secrets. That makes you a terrorist. Buh-bye, rights. Now, on the ground."

"No." His voice quavered, but he kept his stance.

"What part of 'I'm going to shoot Walker if you don't cooperate' do you not understand?"

Chuck gave him a disbelieving look. "You mean, the same woman pointing a—you know what? I don't care. You're full of it, both of you." And abruptly, he spun on his heel and took off, so quickly that Sarah's finger nearly jerked to the trigger.

As moves went, it was an impressive way to call her bluff. Or it would have been if he'd done more than take a couple of running steps and then stop abruptly. When he went absolutely still, Sarah instinctively glanced at Casey, who kind of shrugged back at her. They each took one step closer to Chuck, keeping pace with each other.

When Chuck suddenly whirled around, both Casey and Sarah twitched by instinct. Chuck had stopped looking furious, however. Instead, he seemed more quizzical than anything else. "Um, not to break up the swell party we've got going on, but if you're both government workers like you claim to be and not just a couple of thugs with guns, you should probably know somebody's going to blow up General Stanfield. Just, um, FYI."

* * *

**A/N: **We'll get back to Vi next chapter. I'm not really planning to write a lot of mission stuff, as you'll see, but I had to get this out of the way for other stuff to happen.


	6. For Want of a Nail

**For Want of a Nail**

_For want of a nail the shoe was lost.  
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.  
For want of a horse the rider was lost.  
For want of a rider the battle was lost.  
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.  
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail._

* * *

Chuck didn't feel the pavement under the seat of his jeans, though, logically, he knew it was there, just like he knew the air was thick the scent of cigarette smoke from all of the smokers gathered outside the front doors of the hotel, though that could have been his own clothes, from the brief time he'd spent in the club earlier. Mingled in among those were EMTs and the other emergency crews, crews he supposed weren't really necessary since he'd defused the bomb, but apparently they called everybody and his brother in Los Angeles when a bomb came within seconds of blowing a peace organization dinner to smithereens.

He'd defused a bomb. He'd defused an actual _bomb_.

Which, he felt with some detached part of himself that always made observations about whatever he was doing, meant it was probably justified that he could sit on the curbside in front of a swanky hotel and not really feel like he was there at all. He had come within seconds of being nothing but a Chuck-colored mist in a conference room, but he wasn't because he had been smarter than a Serbian bomber. Or rather, he had been smarter than a laptop. Somehow, the right synapses had fired at the right times and had led him to the Demova virus that he had been trying to crack on Morgan's laptop.

The only reason he was sitting here, not feeling, was because his brain had thought faster than a computer, had led him to realize that the Demova virus would subvert the computer's shut-off protocols, that it would freeze and demolish the same program a Serbian bomber—a man he shouldn't know about but did thanks to the fact that he'd seen the man and had flashed through his profile in the conference room—had programmed to set off a bomb that would kill maybe hundreds of people.

_What if it hadn't?_

_What if I had been wrong?_

He needed to update his will.

If he'd been wrong, or even seconds slower than he had been, if there had been a typo, if he'd tripped coming into the room, his little girl would grow up without a father. He knew how that felt. His own father had been present for his childhood, but he'd never been _there_. Vi was already at a disadvantage with her mother, but at least she would have Ellie and Awesome and maybe even Sophie if the maternal feelings ever decided to show up. With the circle of adults in her life, Vi would probably be more balanced than Chuck felt all the time, even.

But he didn't want his little girl to grow up without him. And he certainly didn't want to miss the big moments or the little ones or the thousands of ways she could surprise him every day.

Anger began to gnaw beneath his sternum.

Bryce Larkin. Chuck had stopped thinking of his old friend as the man who had ruined his life. It felt unfair to pin that label on Bryce, not when Bryce's actions had started the chain of events that ended with Violet. He'd even been determined to forgive and forget, so when Bryce had sent what had felt like it might be a peace offering, he'd leapt at a chance.

_Peace offering, my ass._

The Intersect.

A computer capable of embedding subliminal data into audio, video, and text files, and encoding them in such a way that a human brain could act as database and data filtration system alike.

Not just any human brain, he suspected. _His _human brain.

Bryce Larkin had turned him into a _computer_. It sounded like something out of a science fiction TV show. Perhaps Tom Servo should be sitting in the corner of his life now, making cracks at his hair.

But according to Sarah and even Casey, there were millions of government secrets locked deep inside his head, secrets that could be accessed at random by stimuli in his environment. Flashing, he thought of it. The knowledge came in a series of flashes, like an epiphany his brain had just unearthed. It felt both foreign and completely familiar, as though he'd been doing this his whole life.

It should have been _cool_. Even now, his nerd brain wanted to marvel at all of the possibilities, but he couldn't get past the sick ball of dread sinking deep in the pit of his stomach. Bryce had effectively dumped millions of dollars worth of government secrets right between Chuck's ears, and Chuck wasn't some naïve, idealistic engineering major anymore. He knew that the things in his head would be wanted by people, people that would have no problem hurting him or those he loved to get to those secrets. If he had the wherewithal inside his skull to make a connection between building plans and a specific type of bomb, who knew what else was in there, waiting to be discovered?

He looked down and realized he was shaking.

How long had that been going on? Was it the leftover adrenaline in his system, expunging itself? He didn't think so. This felt like something too big to explain, fury and cold, bleak terror alike.

Raised voices made him look over and remember his surroundings. Sarah and Casey—John Casey, NSA, Marine officer, and Chuck didn't need the Intersect to tell him any of that—had evidently finished up with the crime scene techs inside. They'd also slipped right past where he had been sitting on the curb by the hotel's front door. They were a little ways off, up toward the road, so Chuck rose to his feet, his joints creaking like an old man's.

"What about his friends?" he heard Sarah asking Casey as he approached. "What about his family?"

The word triggered a red haze. "What about my family?" he asked.

Both agents swung to face him in surprise. Sarah wouldn't quite meet his eyes, and that was fine by him; he still wasn't calm enough to deal with her or the fact that she had led him. He felt fury begin to spread through him like nothing else, making his vision blur at the edges, and his heart beat faster. "The two of you had better stay the hell away from my family, got me? You leave them out of this."

"I don't think you understand how this works," Casey said, grabbing Chuck's arm to restrain him.

Chuck jerked his arm loose. "You need me," he said, looking at both agents now. It wasn't the end of it, and he knew that, but he was tired and his body ached from the car accident, and he knew that when Ellie had found out his car had been totaled, she was going to drag him straight to the emergency room. So he shoved past both Casey and Sarah and started walking. He heard Sarah say something to Casey and then the click of her heeled boots on the pavement, following him.

"Where are you going?"

"To deal with my damn car, which the government was nice enough to total for me." He hadn't even had the car six months. "Really glad to see my tax dollars at work."

"Chuck, we're taking care of the car."

"Damn right you're taking care of the car." Chuck groaned and shoved his hands through his hair as it hit him. "My insurance is going to skyrocket. One more thing to worry about from his lousy wreck of a night. Why are you following me?"

"Making sure you're okay."

"I'm fine. And I'd like to be alone."

Behind him, he heard Sarah's strides quicken until she was strolling along next to him. She had her hands in her pockets, and a frown on her face. "Yeah, unfortunately, you're the Intersect, and it's now my job to protect you."

Chuck gave her a peevish look. "Well, the Intersect is fine, too. Run along."

"At least let me give you a ride home."

"So you can find out where I live? Pass."

"I did my research when I got to Burbank. I know where you live."

Chuck glared.

Sarah sighed. "And that's not really helping my case, apparently. Why are we still going this way?"

"I have to take care of the car."

"I already told you—"

Any sheepishness he might have felt about his current mission was buried beneath layers of anger, frustration, and fear. "Vi sneaked Bun-Bun into the backseat to keep me company on the way to our date," he said, his voice clipped. "I need to bring him home with me or she'll have trouble sleeping tomorrow night." At another point, he would have told the story of how he'd had to buy Bun-Bun when they'd left Chewie at home on the trip up to Tahoe in February, but the time for stories had passed. So he shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking.

"Oh." Sarah evidently didn't know what to make of that, so silence fell until they reached the accident. There were emergency vehicles parked all around, a team of firefighters and what looked like the Men in Black clearing up Chuck's car and the trashed Suburban, but Sarah spoke to one of the workers and Chuck was admitted past the emergency tape. The entire left side of the car was smashed inward in a way that made him have to take a deep, shaky breath. He sneaked a glance at Sarah, still talking to the boss in charge. How on _earth _had she survived that without a broken spine, at the very least?

How had he? He'd dived across Sarah, hadn't he, to try and protect her from the damage. Great, one more thing to keep him awake at night. He sighed at that fact as he crossed around to the right side of the car and reached in the open passenger door to unlock the back door manually, as the crash had shorted his keyless entry pad. Thankfully, Bun-Bun was unharmed where Vi had "hidden" him—in plain sight, little paws holding a piece of paper with two stick figure drawings on it, and the words "Good Luck, Daddy!" printed in Aunt Ellie's handwriting. Chuck quickly folded the paper up and hid it in his pocket, as Sarah would probably twig to the fact that she was the stick with the yellow mass around its head if she saw the drawing.

He then reached in to unlatch Vi's booster seat, knocking aside a couple of stale Cheetos from the bag he and Vi had sneaked past Ellie a couple of days before.

"Leave that." Sarah appeared at his side. "We'll take care of it."

Chuck paused. "By take care of it, you mean..."

"I mean, it's being handled. You don't need to worry about anything but, ah, Bun-Bun." Sarah took in the stuffed toy in Chuck's hand and stared. She gave him an almost accusing look. "That's not a bunny."

"I never said it was."

Sarah took the misnomer-stricken Bun-Bun from him for a closer look. "What _is _it?"

"You've never seen a pink and purple platypus before?"

"I can honestly say I never have. Why..."

"Is he named Bun-Bun? Welcome to my daughter's imagination." Chuck sighed and shut the car door, which only made the car alarm go off. "Figures."

"They'll take care of it. Anything you immediately, as in tonight, need from the car?"

Chuck shook his head.

"Then c'mon. Agent Sanderson loaned me one of their cars. I'll give you a ride home." Sarah handed the stuffed platypus back to its grandfather and jerked her head to indicate that Chuck should follow her. He debated just going the other way, and calling a cab, but cash was a little tight this month. He trailed Sarah to a ubiquitous SUV and climbed without comment into the passenger seat. At another point, he would have made a joke about not trusting her behind the wheel after her first little driving stunt, but he just wasn't in the mood for jokes.

Whoever had been driving the car before Sarah was a fan of classical. Neither of them made any move to change the station.

Finally, after a few minutes of Bach or Mozart or whatever long-haired dead guy was playing on the radio, Chuck reached over and pushed the off switch. "What happens now?" he asked.

# # #

Trust him to start with the hardest question of them all.

She almost told him the truth: that she didn't know, that this was new territory for her as well as for Casey and definitely for Chuck. In a way, she supposed it was lucky that they'd had a literal bomb to defuse. It would do far better than any résumé or audition in convincing the bosses on the merits of keeping Chuck outside a bunker.

She had a feeling Chuck wouldn't see it that way. He'd been so quiet and still since the porn virus had worked, but she wasn't an idiot. She could see a storm brewing. It was almost fascinating in its way: Chuck had seemed so bright and open on the date, but the instant he had been threatened, something cold and foreign had descended over everything about him, and he'd had a hooded look about him ever since.

She was waiting for the explosion, and more importantly, the aftermath.

"I'll drop you off at home and then report in with my boss," she said, choosing the ignore the larger meaning of Chuck's question in favor of the easier answer.

"Your boss at the CIA," Chuck said.

"Yes." She didn't elaborate that Graham was the director. Chuck would only freak out. "And they'll tell us how to go about this."

"Go about _what_? Go about the fact that I'm now a walking liability? That I happen to think about the wrong thing and suddenly I'm babbling out the—the secret of Area 51 or something?"

Sarah gave him a look. "The secret of what?"

He sighed. "How can you not know about Area 51?"

"I was joking."

"Oh."

"They take you through the secret of Area 51 on the first week of CIA training. It's actually surprisingly mundane."

"Ha, ha," Chuck said without enthusiasm.

She almost told him he should feel privileged—she wasn't the type to make jokes, and perhaps the fact that he hadn't laughed was more than proof enough as to why that was—but it wasn't the time. Silence fell again, this time ten times more awkward than it had been previously.

"You said you worked with Bryce," Chuck said, breaking the silence again.

She kept her eyes on the road. "Yes. We were partners."

"Why would he do this? Why'd he send the Intersect to me, and not to, let's say, you?"

"I don't know."

"Can't you call him up and ask him? Surely, if you're partners—"

"Bryce is dead, Chuck." Sarah swallowed hard and finally looked over at Chuck. He was staring at her, as though frozen in a moment of time and not sure how to go forward.

"Bryce is _dead_? But…" Chuck pushed his hands over his face. "How? Was it—"

She had to look away now. It had been a couple of days, but objectively, she knew she was still in the denial stage. An agent was trained to deal with death, but this went beyond training. So she turned to face the road and stared hard, straight ahead. "He died sending those secrets to you."

"Oh." Chuck leaned back against the seat, and the way he went silent suggested that he was clearly still processing that news. His face was cast into shadow thanks to the fact that he'd turned it away from the street lamps passing outside, so Sarah couldn't read his expression, but the silence seemed to stretch for eternities. Finally, Chuck cleared his throat. "I don't suppose he left a note."

"He didn't."

"Which means nobody's sure why he sent me the Intersect."

"Trust me, it's a mystery." She made the turn into his subdivision.

"So what happens now? They, what, they throw me in a government bunker? Because I have to admit, I have more than a few problems with that. Bunker pale's really not a good look on me, and oh, yeah, no way in hell is Violet growing up in a bunker. Additionally, you're not taking her away from me, or me from her. I will run before that happens."

She sighed. They were all starting off in such a happy place tonight. "You realize," she pointed out in her most pragmatic tone, "that if you do that, the government might accuse you of stealing."

"Not my fault they're so bad at looking after their toys that they end up in the heads of innocent civilians."

"Well, you can relax. There will be no bunkers involved here." Sarah pulled the car up in front of Chuck's house and killed the headlights, though she left the engine running. "We're going to protect you—you and Violet both. I will do everything in my power to keep you safe."

"Gotta protect the Intersect," Chuck said, but the angry undertone had lessened somewhat. He let out a long breath. "I'm not as worried about me as I am..."

"About Violet. I know."

"I just want to know why Bryce would do this, why he would chose me. I'm not some frat buddy of his anymore, waiting to be picked for the intramurals team. I have a life and responsibilities, and now he's put all of that in danger, and I can't figure out why he hates me so much. I mean, he got me kicked out of Stanford, and now this?"

"I don't know," Sarah said, "but we're not going to give up looking, to see if there was a reason. Now, you should go in, get some rest. I'll be in touch in the morning and we'll talk about the next step."

"Okay. Thanks for the ride." Chuck pushed the passenger door open.

Sarah scooped up the platypus from where it had fallen between their seats. "Don't forget, ah, Bun-Bun," she said, passing it over.

He took the toy with a nod and she her lip before she could remark that he seemed like a good father. Things were still too weird between them for that sort of awkward interaction. And she really didn't want to come across like a suck-up, not after the night she'd had and the night that lay in store.

Chuck closed the door behind him and got maybe three steps before he turned on his heel and came back. Sarah rolled the passenger door window down, obliging him. "One thing," he said, and his face hardened into that angry mask he'd worn for most of the night. She felt her stomach flutter. "Don't you _ever _draw a gun on me again unless you are fully planning to pull that trigger."

And with that said, he turned and walked away.

* * *

**A/N: **So, yeah, angry Chuck. A little more on what happened in the hotel next chapter, as some of it doesn't make sense. And yes, Bun-Bun may have been a poke at Fates. The two people who've read _Sluggy Freelance_ probably went, "Of course. It's Frea. There's gotta be an evil bunny somewhere." Even if it's a platypus.


	7. Fallout

**Fallout**

_Ingredient #5 - Time, time, and more time. Time plays a major role in the development and strengthening of trust. Don't expect an overnight change of attitude from either yourself or your partner._

**- Five Ingredients for Developing Trust in a Relationship**

* * *

The house was quiet when he unlocked the front door and reset the security code for the downstairs, and he couldn't help but be grateful. If Ellie had been waiting up for him, or Awesome had returned home, he would have to talk to them, and he wasn't sure he was up for that. He didn't think Sarah had noticed, but he was shaking from head to toe, tiny, microscopic shakes that seemed to be the only way he could express his fear and fury and terror and exhaustion and confusion and fear. He was certainly in no mood to lie and give a postgame recap, not when he still wasn't sure what had been real and what hadn't been about the whole damned date.

It had been going so _well_.

He poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge and swallowed four Ibuprofen. His body was going to hurt like nothing else come morning, he knew. The only reason it didn't know was that his brain just didn't have enough left over to process physical pain, but he had a strong feeling that the morning wasn't going to be pleasant. Maybe the doctor Ellie inevitably dragged him to when she found out about his car would prescribe the good drugs. Maybe something good might come out of this mess. Sighing, he moved the Converse All-Star magnet on the fridge, his "Chuck is home" habit, and went upstairs.

Normally, he might go straight for his computer, check emails, maybe do some trouble-shooting or even play a game for a bit if he was in the mood, but tonight, he passed his office up. He was burned out on computers for the night; ironic, given that he now _was _one, thanks to Bryce. Instead of going into his office, he stripped out of his overshirt, which was covered in schmutz from the accident, and tossed that on the sofa bed on his way to check on Violet.

It had been a long night in the same way that Comic Con was just a little bit nerdy.

He eased open Vi's door, an automatic habit before he went to bed whenever he was up working late. Usually, it was just a quick peek, to reassure himself she hadn't been carried away by minions of David Bowie, but tonight he didn't move away from the doorway.

Vi slept the same as she always did: aggressively, taking up as much of the bed as her slender form would allow and twisted up in the sheets, her face shoved into the mattress and one arm lovingly strangling Chewie. It looked like she and Aunt Ellie had indeed painted their fingernails. Chuck couldn't be sure, but tonight's color looked like bubblegum pink. She seemed entirely unchanged, though she'd probably sprung up another half inch or so, a pretty regular habit for her every time he turned around.

How the hell was he ever going to keep her safe?

There were a thousand scary things on the planet—major illness, minor illness, boo-boos, scrapes, injuries, accidents, fire, flood, pestilence, disease, bad people, strangers, Cylons and someday the worst thing of them all: boyfriends. And now, terrorists and spies.

He was never sleeping again. Without knowing what he was doing, Chuck moved away from the doorway and settled in on the floor of Vi's room, leaning his back against the dresser. The white enamel knobs dug into the skin just to the left of his spine, but he ignored it.

How as he going to keep her _safe_?

He must have made too much noise, for Vi began to stir. She rolled over to face him, those eyes opening to slits that glinted a bit in the light of her Tinkerbell nightlight. "Daddy?"

He lifted his chin off of his hands. "Yes, Megabyte? I'm right here."

Even half-asleep, Vi could give him the "I _know _that, Daddy" look rather well. "What'choo doin'?"

"Just, ah, just thinking."

"What 'bout?"

Chuck scooted forward, stroking a hand over Vi's hair to pull it away from being crushed into the pillow. "Adult stuff. Were you having a nightmare?"

"No," and with that, Vi was content to roll back over and fall right back asleep. Chuck grinned despite himself when her breathing slowed.

"You're trouble," he told his sleeping daughter, and brushed her hair back once more. Normally, he would have given her a quick kiss on the forehead and gone to bed himself, but tonight, he stayed where he was, one hand resting on her back, for hours longer.

# # #

"Took you long enough," Casey said when Sarah let herself into the FBI office he'd appropriated for his mission against Chuck Bartowski and the theft of the Intersect.

She didn't roll her eyes: she wouldn't give Casey the pleasure. She was tired, thanks to her days of stake-outs and everything that had gone down on officially the most disastrous date in history, and it looked like the night was only half-over. Normally, she would have told Casey to shove it, but—well, damn it, she needed his help to keep promises she'd made. And she didn't really feel like getting into any more fights tonight. She could probably take Casey, but why bother?

So she nodded, curtly, and peeled out of her jacket. "I did a walkabout. Nobody suspicious in the area."

"Uh-huh. Sure you weren't busy humping the mark?"

"Quite sure," Sarah said, inserting a bit of frost into her voice.

Too much, she saw immediately. Casey smirked; he knew perfectly well he'd gotten a rise out of her.

"You talked to the bosses?" she asked, determined to move past this without any interagency incidents.

"Teleconference in five minutes. You cut it close."

"I'm still here in time." Sarah rolled her shoulders. The visitor chairs in the office looked comfortable, but since Casey wasn't sitting, she wasn't going to either. No reason to give him the advantage. Why couldn't the NSA and CIA have sent somebody a little less antagonistic for their investigation? Right now, John Casey was the biggest pain in her ass that he could possibly be, and she had a feeling he both knew it and reveled in that fact. "What was their reaction?"

"I got them out of bed in the middle of the night to let them know a civilian has the greatest security asset in the country in his head. What do you think their reaction was?"

"There's got to be some way to get it out of his head," Sarah mused.

"Not our problem, Walker."

"Suppose not." Silence fell. She crossed her arms over her chest, grateful her shirt hadn't gotten torn during their earlier stunts, so that she still looked somewhat presentable to the bosses. Graham, she knew, but for the NSA—

The screen at the head of the office sprang to life, Graham's face filling the left half of the screen, and on the right…

"Good evening, General," Casey said. "Director."

She shouldn't have been surprised to see General Diane Beckman's cranky face take up half of the screen, though she wasn't exactly displeased. At least Beckman wasn't one of the penny-pinching Generals. They wouldn't have to worry about the project being cut due to funding.

_Wait a second: project? The main subject of any so-called project wants nothing to do with us. Way to get ahead of yourself, Walker._

"Good evening, General, Director," she said, moving to Casey's side and adopting a similar stance. It wasn't quite the military "At Ease" stance, but it was close enough for government work. "Our apologies for waking you." Though Graham had on a polo shirt, Beckman was clearly wearing a robe. They really had dragged two of the highest ranked people in the Intelligence community out of bed, all over a civilian who had basically told the both of them to go to hell—Sarah, literally.

_May your life be interesting_ really was the worst curse you could bestow on somebody, Sarah thought.

"Major Casey, Agent Walker, perhaps you would like to explain to me the reports I've just received that a civilian disarmed a bomb in a major Los Angeles hotel with..." Beckman glanced down, and Sarah had to assume she was reading a hard copy of said report. "A computer...virus?"

In spite of herself, Sarah shared a sidelong look with Casey. Neither of them wanted to be the one to tell Beckman of the nature of said virus.

Or how...well endowed it had been.

"Er, yes, ma'am," Casey said, apparently deciding to take the fall.

"Perhaps, Major, you should start at the beginning," Graham said. "I'd like to hear both of your versions of tonight."

"Yes, sir."

"Of course, sir."

The story came out a little untruthfully, and Sarah wasn't sure if she was bothered by the fact that Casey downplayed how many men had come into the club with him to nab Chuck, as it meant he also had to reduce her own role in disabling his team. The accident, he blamed on her. It burned somewhat, but she reminded herself that she needed Casey's support to keep Chuck out of the bunker.

When they reached the hotel segment of the story, she took over the narrative. "We attempted to keep Chuck away from the bomb, but he proved to be the one most capable of disarming the bomb. Apparently, the virus circumvented any shutdown protocols that would have triggered the bomb. Chuck was very helpful in both locating the bomb and gathering information on the bomber, apparently learned by way of the Intersect. We've coordinated the local LEOs searching for the bomber."

"Mm-hmm. And you say that this Chuck Bartowski used the Intersect? Without computer backup?"

"No, ma'am, it's all inside his head. As best we can tell, it works as some sort of...live database. We don't know how it works, yet, but I do know Chuck seemed to, ah, 'flash' on information in my presence three times. I didn't notice the first, but he did flash on the hotel and discover that the CIA had intercepted some floor plans last week of the hotel."

"And that the NSA had also received intel on a bomb of the size and magnitude to topple the Millennium Hotel," Casey said. "Bartowski seemed to have cross-referenced this intel himself."

"Essentially, Chuck Bartowski has become the Intersect," Sarah said, feeling foolish for even having to make the statement, even if it were true.

Beckman's eyes went wide. "How is this _possible_?"

"When Bryce sent it to him, he apparently encoded the Intersect into a video game that he and Mr. Bartowski used to play. By viewing the entirety of the Intersect files, Chuck has apparently turned himself into a computer."

"As far as we can tell, ma'am, Director, there's been no actual contact between Larkin and Bartowski." Casey shuffled his feet and looked annoyed. "Bartowski claims he wasn't in on the theft or destruction of the original Intersect. And for what it's worth...I believe him."

Even as Sarah turned to give him an incredulous look, Casey continued, "I don't think Bartowski would even know how to steal candy from a gas station."

_So close, and then the insult comes._

"And neither of you has figured out why there would be any reason that Bryce Larkin might have sent the Intersect to Bartowski?"

"No, ma'am," Sarah said.

"He might have sent it, believing that we wouldn't be able to track the transmission and would never think a civilian might have the software," Casey said. "It's possible Chuck Bartowski was never intended to view the Intersect files and become a living Intersect himself, sir, ma'am."

_But why put it into a video game that Chuck would surely play and trigger the download, then?_

The bosses seemed be thinking along Sarah's line of thought, however, from the doubtful frowns on both of their faces—of course, Sarah mused, that could have just been their default expressions. Graham had never seemed like a fountain of fun in all of the time he'd served as her mentor. "Intentions matter little here, Major Casey," General Beckman said. "Either way, this is problematic. Our most valuable security asset is in the head of an unprotected civilian. We need to get him into a protected facility as we possibly can."

Sarah took a deep breath and stepped forward. "I understand your concerns, but may I speak freely?"

"I'm not sure that's—"

"Go ahead, Sarah," Graham said, cutting Beckman off.

_Great. Way to start me off on the wrong foot with Beckman. Thanks, Graham._

Sarah pushed back the stab of annoyance. "We have a unique opportunity here. Mr. Bartowski's anonymity is his biggest asset—nobody knows he's the Intersect save the people in this conversation, and none of us are certainly the type to go spilling our greatest secrets. If you were to put Mr. Bartowski into a protected facility, I have reason to believe he would protest every step of the way, and given his knowledge and the fact that he _has _downloaded the Intersect with no problems, cause a great deal of trouble."

"Get to the point: what are you suggesting?"

"We use Bartowski."

"Come again?"

"The fact that Chu—Mr. Bartowski can access the Intersect like a database can't be a coincidence," Sarah said. "Those files were encoded specifically with a human host in mind, weren't they?"

Casey shifted his feet a fraction, which told Sarah he had indeed been read in on the original intentions of the Intersect Project. It also told her that her sally had found its mark, a fact she also picked up from the annoyed looks that overtook the faces of their bosses. "For better or worse, Mr. Bartowski is now your human host, and nobody would suspect him, which makes him more ideal than you'd think. Install Major Casey and myself out here in California semi-permanently while you search for a solution to get the Intersect out of Mr. Bartowski, and we'll act as security or the Intersect, and his family."

"His family?"

"That's the other problem, Director. Mr. Bartowski also has primary custody of a four-year-old daughter. It's...the main reason I believe he will cause problems."

General Beckman's frown deepened. "Problems?"

_Crap. Now I have to figure out how to keep them from just sniping Chuck at the first whiff of any hint of trouble. Nice one, Walker._

Sarah took another deep breath and addressed Graham, whom she sensed was her foot in the door in this argument. "Wasn't it you, sir, who's always quoting at me that opportunity often comes in disguised in the form of misfortune, or temporary defeat? Mr. Bartowski saved a lot of lives tonight, a lot of lives that would have been lost without his intelligence and capabilities as the Intersect."

For a long moment, Graham was silent, fingers clasped in front of his face so that his chin rested on his joined hands, obviously mulling over her argument. Her heart wasn't quite in her throat, but she did feel her pulse speed up a little. Chuck had looked so frustrated and defeated when she had dropped him off at his place, so upset over something that hadn't been his fault at all. He needed an advocate, and he needed a good one, but in the same way that life was never fair, that was not going to happen unless Graham and Beckman deemed him worthy of it. For now, Chuck's greatest advocates were the fact that he had indeed disarmed the bomb, and that he had her on his side.

Finally, Graham nodded, and Sarah felt her knees weaken just a little. She kept herself still.

"General Stanfield is an old golfing buddy of mine," Graham said. "The country owes Mr. Bartowski a debt. Very well, Walker, we'll play it your way—unless Major Casey has any objections?"

"Sir? I'm not sure this—"

"You did say you were feeling pasty, Major. Consider this an opportunity to get that sunlight you desired."

"Yes, sir."

"Mr. Bartowski's family is important to him, you say?"

"Above all things, I believe so."

"Very well. Our primary responsibility is Mr. Bartowski, obviously, but no reason we can't include his dependants in our protection detail. Agent Walker, Major Casey, coordinate on the best way to go about that. General, will the NSA be comfortable taking point on seeing how to remove the Intersect from Bartowski's head?"

"Of course." General Beckman looked affronted that he even had to ask. "We'll put our best scientists on it. Casey, Walker, you'll be reporting to both of us about this, and us alone. For that matter, for the foreseeable future, Bartowski's full name shouldn't be used in reports, are we clear?"

"Crystal, General."

"I expect full reports from both of you waiting on my desk in the morning. Coordinate how you're going to run Bartowski's security and report back to us tomorrow. Briefing at 1200, eastern time. Agent Walker, since you seem so hung up on the civilian, you'll serve as his handler."

Sarah heard Casey's snicker and did her best to ignore it. "Yes, ma'am."

"It's never dull, isn't it?" Director Graham asked before the screens went black, leaving Sarah alone with Casey again.

He immediately turned to face her, crossed his arms over his chest, and began to chuckle. "Somebody has her panties in a twist over a civilian," he remarked, his smirk broad. "I'd wonder what Larkin would think of that? Oh, wait, it doesn't matter, does it? He's dead."

"You're an ass," Sarah said, and finally took a seat at the desk, booting up the computer.

"What are you doing?"

"My job." Sarah pulled up an Internet browser and tabbed over to Google. "I saw a house for sale a few houses down from Chuck's when I was dropping him off, it'll serve as a great base for the project."

"The _project_? Don't fool yourself, Walker. The bosses will come to their senses soon and pull this. Bartowski'll end up in a cushy government bunker where the intel will be safe. I'll put in a good word for him; his family can visit him."

Sarah pushed her hand through her hair, which was still down from the date, as she'd lost her hair-sticks in the leg of Casey's men. She'd called the hospital on her way back to the meeting with Casey and the bosses; all of Casey's team had survived, though one would be in physical therapy for a few months. "How is that even fair?" she asked. "He didn't do anything wrong!"

"Bad things happen to good people, Walker. We just have to deal with it."

"We saved a lot of lives tonight, Casey."

Casey shrugged.

"We did," Sarah went on, looking away from the screen and giving Casey—her new partner, it looked like—a cold look. "I don't know what you signed on for, but that's enough for me."

"And it doesn't hurt that the new Intersect is oh-so-dreamy," Casey muttered, snickering again.

Sarah lifted an eyebrow. "I didn't know you swung that way, Casey."

His eyes narrowed. She merely continued to smile innocently.

"Touché, Walker," Casey finally said. Silence fell for a minute before Casey sighed and reached for the phone. "It's going to be a long night, and not all of us got to eat out on the Intersect's dime. I'm calling for food."

Sarah bit her lip over a protest that she had offered to go Dutch on the meal. "Get me a burger, extra pickles?" she asked instead.

Casey grumbled, but he did so. Maybe, just maybe, this odd partnership might work, though Sarah still had her doubts. She picked up her cell phone and began to make the calls necessary for the night's work to happen.

# # #

Chuck didn't know how many hours he sat on Violet's floor, his back resting against the wall so that he sat between the bed and the nightlight, but Chuck's entire body felt weary and though it had been used by a punching bag by Olympian boxers when he finally pushed himself to his feet, kissed his daughter on the forehead, and made his way out into the hallway. No matter how much he simply wanted to curl up on the floor and sleep there, to really keep an eye on Violet, he knew better. She would suspect something if she woke up to find him sleeping in there, and she might say something to Ellie, which would start Ellie questioning Chuck.

So he made his way out into the upstairs living room, which doubled as his bedroom. He looked down at the daybed/sofa he usually slept on, but even though he was tired, he didn't think he would fall asleep.

Maybe he _should _go into the office, see if he could lose himself a bit in work, which was sure to knock him right out. He peeled out of his shirt and tugged on sweatpants instead of jeans. Ignoring a shirt for now—it was a bit warm in the house—he flicked on the office light and went to boot up his computer and power up all of the different machines in the office, which always took a couple of minutes. As he did so, he spotted the Prism laptop Morgan had brought over to be fixed, and his blood ran cold.

What if Morgan hadn't brought that virus to him?

_You can't think like that_, his brain told him. Suddenly, the house seemed too cold again. He turned to go grab a shirt—and froze.

There was a face in his window.


	8. For Better or For Worse

**For Better or For Worse**

_Kids say funny things all the time, but some are just prone to word play and Aaron trumped them all. There were times he would be "let off the hook" if his remarks got a laugh and I had to be careful not to encourage him too much or the discipline we managed to instill would go whizzing down the drain. - _Lynn Johnston, cartoonist, _For Better or Worse_ on her blog

* * *

Needless to say, Chuck jumped. And yelped. And was reaching for anything that would serve as a handy weapon—in this case, a rolled up tube of blueprint paper for an old project—by the time the window was shoved up. "Shh! It's only me!"

Chuck dropped the tube. "Sa—_Sarah_? What the hell are you—were you trying to break in?"

"No." She was still in the outfit she'd worn earlier, and looked completely normal, except for the fact that she was sitting outside his window. His window on the second story of the house. "Casey and I agreed that I'd take the first shift in surveillance, I saw your light come on, and I figured I'd talk to you while I got the chance."

_Guess tonight wasn't an extremely bad hallucination brought on by the potency of overripe avocadoes_.

Any lightness or reassurance he'd gotten from his daughter's room abruptly faded, and Chuck felt his own face grow scarily cold. "Great," he said, sitting down in his computer chair. "I've got my very own stalker."

"Ta-da," Sarah said, and there was just as much humor in the response as there had been in the accusation. "I didn't want your cell phone going off and waking Violet just in case you had it on loud or something, so I climbed the tree."

"You climbed the tree."

"It's not hard." One of Sarah's shoulders jerked. "And I'm only up here for a minute to pass on some news."

"Oh." The polite side of Chuck finally let the other half of him know he was being a jerk. He might be angry with Sarah and Casey and the whole damned government, but she had a good point about the cell phone. "Did you want to come in?"

"I'm comfortable out here." Sarah shifted a bit, settling in, as she said it.

He gave her a disbelieving look. "You're in a tree."

"Yes, and it's a really nice night. Don't even need a jacket. I promise I'll be out of your hair soon."

His night had been strange enough that speaking to a woman in a tree probably shouldn't make the top ten list, but Chuck still had to scrub both hands over his face. The hours spent watching over Vi hadn't given him a whole lot of clarity, it appeared. He was still angry with the government, furious at Casey, upset at Sarah, scared out of his wits, frustrated, helpless, lost, and annoyingly enough, aggravated that the date _hadn't _been real, that it had all been a front. He'd gotten his hopes up for what? The chance to be threatened, nearly blown up, and told that he was now some sort of walking computer that belonged to the government?

Suddenly, he was a whole hell of a lot less patient. "What do you want?"

A shutter immediately dropped over Sarah's face, erasing all of the traces of the hesitant grin she'd had earlier. "Like I said, I'm here to pass on some news."

"Well?"

"I spoke to the bosses. The good news is that you're not going anywhere, and nothing is going to happen to you or Violet. In fact, you'll pretty much go on living your life as if nothing had happened."

As much as that made him want to fall back against his seat in a boneless pile of relief, Chuck felt his eyes narrowing. "Hard to go on living my life as if nothing had happened is a bit difficult to do when you mention things like 'first shift in surveillance.'" He got up and crossed to the window, ignoring Sarah's puzzled look to glance around her. "That your Porsche?"

"Yes."

"Nice ride. You're sitting in your car watching my house tonight?"

"Just until we get the base set up."

"Base?" Chuck scowled.

"You've got billions of dollars in government secrets in your head. You're vulnerable. We're here to make sure you're not. So we're setting up a base."

"Great," Chuck said, his voice flat. "More government interference. Just what I was missing in my life."

Sarah's face had closed off into something completely unreadable, but thanks to his sister and his daughter, he knew women well enough to know she was pissed off at him. "You know what? We can talk about this later. I'll leave you alone."

Apparently it really _was _easy to climb the tree, as it only took Sarah about ten seconds to get to the ground once her face vanished from his window. Chuck watched her stalk across the lawn in those ridiculous heeled boots. He should probably feel bad, and he likely would come morning, but he was just too tired, and it had been too much.

He shut off the light and went to bed, where he didn't sleep.

# # #

It was too godforsaken early in the gorram morning for any human action that wasn't homicidal or suicidal, but Chuck dragged his weary body down the stairs and stumbled into the kitchen, blinking as the light hurt his eyes. It was like a hangover, he thought somewhere in the muddled recesses of his brain, only worse because he hadn't gotten to have the party leading up to the pain. He grunted at Awesome, who was of course already up and geared up for what looked like a long ride on the exercise bike.

Any other morning, Chuck might have made a joke about hamster wheels. This morning, he made a beeline for the coffee pot, mercifully still half-full. The _SpongeBob Squarepants _theme drifted through the kitchen, which told him Vi was already up and in the living room. He'd check on her once he had caffeine.

Lots of caffeine.

"Whoa, dude," Awesome said. "You look rough. Bad date?"

Chuck inhaled half a cup. "It was okay," he said.

"Just okay? Sounds less than awesome."

"Had a late night," he said, which wasn't a lie, and added, "Coding," which was.

"Ah."

"Um, I'm behind on some work for a customer. Need more coffee."

"Say no more, bro, I understand. I'll leave you to it."

"Thanks." But Chuck remembered common courtesy. "How'd the surgery go last night?"

"It was awesome. Nothing quite like open-heart surgery to make you examine how much of your life is important, dude. But awesome news, my patient looks like he'll make a full recovery."

"That's wonderful."

Chuck finished off the first mug and poured himself a second before he remembered his current predicament. He wandered into Awesome and Ellie's part of the house, to the little exercise room off of the laundry room. As expected, Awesome was hard at work on the exercise bike. "Something up, bro?" he asked, barely even panting as Chuck came in.

Chuck, who avoided working out like the plague, gave the exercise bike his usual apprehensive look. "Hey, do you have any plans today?"

"Four words: electrolytes, nap, UCLA football."

"I don't even understand what that means, but do you think it's possible for me to borrow your car?"

"Yeah, no problem. Something up with yours?"

"Well, it's a long story, but it kind of broke down last night and..." _Got pummeled by a vengeful NSA agent out to throw me in a bunker, only now he's not going to because I can do things like disarm bombs_.

"Bummer. At least it was in the driveway when it broke down."

"Yeah, at least—wait, what?" Chuck's head snapped up. "What are you talking about, in the driveway?"

"Well, it was in the driveway when I got back. You had it towed here?" Awesome's feet never stopped pumping at the pedals. "Should've towed it to a garage."

"Well, I've got a friend that may look at it," Chuck lied, trying to think on his feet—not the easiest thing to do when he felt like twenty miles of bad road. "Excuse me a second?"

"Sure."

How on earth could his car be sitting in the driveway? The last time he'd seen it, it had looked like an unfortunate casualty in a battle between Godzilla and Shredder. Disbelieving, Chuck walked up to the front door and stared out at the driveway. There, parked right next to Awesome's hatchback, was a car the same year, make, model, and color as his.

"Well, frak," he said. "They really did take care of it."

"So, what's the verdict?" Awesome asked twenty minutes later, wandering into the kitchen where Chuck was staring into his cereal bowl. "Need to borrow my car?"

"Uh, no." Chuck managed a weak smile. It sucked to keep lying so much, but he wasn't sure even he believed what had happened the night before. "I just needed some more coffee. Little out of it, sorry."

"No prob. Though you really should be getting more sleep, dude. You look like hell."

"Thanks. I try."

# # #

Sarah told herself that it was sensible not to get back in touch with Chuck for a little while, that she wasn't sulking. Chuck had had a lot dumped onto his head—into his head—so it made sense to keep her distance. And he had every reason to be upset: his life had been turned upside down, and he didn't have much of a choice about any of it. So he needed space to adjust before she could bring him the rest of the news about the Intersect project. He needed space from all of them, not just her. Therefore, it wasn't personal, even though his hostility felt like a knife blade to the gut. Right now, Sarah knew she could reasonably be perceived as a threat, and Chuck was just protecting his little girl. There was even something admirable in how defiantly he'd stood up for his rights.

Not that it really mattered, though. Chuck Bartowski was still a jerk.

"That one's heavy, Walker," Casey said when Sarah went to lift a box from the back of the moving truck. Within hours of the purchase of the house, the teams in LA had put together quite the collection of things for Casey and Sarah to move into their new house. Sarah had wondered what sort of cover they would pick for her, so she'd peeked in a couple of boxes labeled "SARAH'S ROOM."

Generic seemed to be the theme of the day.

Now Casey, her very own pain in the ass partner, was proving exactly how awful this new life would be. He glared at her as she continued to reach for the heavy box. "Let one of the movers—never mind."

"I hold my own," Sarah told him, though the box was heavy nearly to the point of straining her arms from their sockets.

Casey climbed into the moving van, heading for the back. "You always going to be this anal?"

"You always going to be this sexist?"

A grunt. It figured.

She didn't know if either outlook would truly be the case, but she could already tell they were going to be the roommates from hell. At least Casey was as unhappy about it as she was.

"General, Director, I would be happy to keep staying at the hotel," she'd tried to insist during the briefing a few hours earlier. But no dice: the bosses insisted that if they were purchasing a house, both agents might as well live there, as it would provide easy access to Chuck Bartowski and all of his security needs. So to their new neighbors, Sarah and her much-older, in-the-military half-brother John were moving in.

_Should've just let Casey run me over last night._

She maneuvered her way down the ramp now, and, as luck would have it, nearly bowled into the source of her current bad mood.

And his four-year-old daughter.

They were standing at the base of the ramp, looking up into the truck together, Violet's hand in Chuck's. The daughter wore purple today; the father had some sort of logo on his T-shirt that Sarah didn't recognize. It hardly mattered. What were they even doing there?

Violet's face immediately lit up when Sarah swung the box around for a better look at them. "Miss Sarah! Daddy, look, it's Miss Sarah. Hi, Miss Sarah."

Sarah managed a choked, "Well, hey, Miss Violet. How are you?" She could be as pissed as she liked at Chuck, but none of that held up against Violet.

"I'm great," Violet said, bouncing onto the toes of her tiny—and pink—chucks. "Are you moving in?"

"Yep." Sarah searched Chuck's face for any clues as to why he would be there, but Chuck's expression was damnably mild. Again, it figured. "What are you two doing here?"

Violet giggled. "We live right there," she said, pointing at her house. "This used to be Aunt Ellie's friend Mariana's house, but Aunt Ellie says she had to move away to take a new job, and this house has been empty for aaaaages. So you're going to live here now? Right down the street from me and Daddy? Does that mean you're our new neighbor?"

How could something so small talk that fast? Sarah temporarily forgot the fact that her arms were about to fall off to gape. When she noticed Chuck's mouth twitching, as if he was trying to hide a smile, she hastily shut her mouth. "Ah, yes."

"Awesome," Violet said, her grin broadening.

"Here, let me take that," Chuck said, breaking his odd silence. Before Sarah could think to protest, he'd shifted the box from Sarah's arms to his own.

"You don't have to do that," she still said.

He managed a shrug as he shifted his grip. "Just being neighborly."

"Well, thank you." She reached in and grabbed another box.

"No problem. Point the way. Vi, stay close."

"Of _course_, Daddy," Vi said. "I always do."

"Why don't I believe that for a second?" Sarah heard Chuck mutter under his breath, and she had to fight a smile.

The boxes they were carrying now were technically for Casey's bedroom, but it was near the new armory, and Sarah didn't want Violet—or Chuck—anywhere near that. The living room, she figured, would be safe.

"Do you have any kids?" Violet asked as she followed Chuck and Sarah up the front walk, taking care to avoid the cracks in the sidewalk.

Sarah choked on nothing yet again, while her heart began to pound from sheer terror. "No! I mean, no, no, it's just me…and my brother."

"Brother, huh?" Chuck muttered, quietly enough that Vi couldn't hear. "Vi, get the door."

Violet held it open so that the adults could go through. "Does that mean your brother has kids?"

"No," Sarah said in a much more normal voice. "It'll be just the two of us, I'm afraid."

_Kill me now_.

"Is your brother nice?"

"He has his moments. You can set that down right there, Chuck. Ca—John will get it later."

Chuck grunted as he set the box by the new couch.

"So how come you've got a whole house if you don't have any kids?" Vi began hopping from foot to foot along the floor tiles. Though she'd addressed Sarah, she was already beginning to prowl around the room, evidently fascinated by all of the boxes in their haphazard piles.

"Uh, well." Sarah shot Chuck a "help me out!" look, but he simply pulled off his ball-cap to run his hand over his hair and give her a shrug. Next to his fountain-of-energy daughter, he looked weary. "My brother needs a lot of space, so we got a house. He's a big guy, my…brother is."

"Oh." Violet tilted her head, pondering this. "So now that you're dating my daddy, do you think you'll ever have k—"

Even as Violet's words made the room begin to shrink, Chuck snatched his daughter up and clapped a hand over her mouth. The ease with which he did told Sarah it wasn't a new move; the fact that his face was now the color of a siren told her she wasn't alone in wanting to vanish through the floorboards.

"Sorry," Chuck said, tucking Vi under his arm like a football. "Curious George here and I talked about this, but as you can see, she's a walking game of twenty questions. We mostly came over because Megabyte wanted to see if the new neighbors had kids."

"Sorry to disappoint," Sarah said. "No kids. Just me and Casey."

As if summoned, Casey appeared through the front door, took in the tableau in the living room, and said nothing—very loudly.

"And here he is," Sarah said without missing a beat. "Chuck, my brother, the Major John Casey. John, this is Chuck and Violet."

"Nice to meet you, ah, John." Chuck set Violet on the ground so that he could shake Casey's hand, keeping up the pretenses in front of his daughter. He then nudged Violet's shoulder. "What do you say?"

Sarah was pretty sure the correct answer wasn't, "What's a Major?" but that was what Violet said anyway.

Casey stared down at the half-sized human in front of him as though aliens had landed in his living room and wanted to have tea. Sarah exchanged a look with Chuck, who shrugged back at her. "It's a military rank," Casey said at length. "A title."

"Your title is Major?"

"Yes. Most people call me sir, though."

Violet absorbed this with a sage nod, as though she had expected nothing less. Compared to the NSA agent, she was minuscule, tiny from the top of her pigtails to the toes of her chucks. And there was not a doubt in Sarah's mind who would win in battle. Indeed, Violet tilted her head yet again and smiled up at Casey before delivering a smart salute. "Major Casey sir, how come _you _don't have any kids?"

Sarah and Chuck began coughing, hard.

"Well, Casey," Sarah said, fighting back the laughter only because she knew exactly how hellish living with Casey would be if she outright giggled like she wanted to, even if Casey was regarding the sprite in front of him with the same confusion most people reserved for MENSA puzzles, "the lady wants to know."

"Never had time," Casey said, shooting a glare at Sarah. "'Scuse me." He picked up the box Chuck had carried in and headed toward the back room.

Violet, it seemed, was determined to get her answers. "Never had time for what?" she asked, keeping pace with Casey across the living room by hopping from tile to tile.

Sarah had one terrifyingly real vision of what could happen if Violet actually followed Casey to the armory, and sprang forward. "Violet, honey, ah, don't go back there."

"But Major Casey sir—"

"Violet." Chuck's voice was quiet, but it was the Parent Voice that Sarah figured had to come naturally. Immediately, Violet stopped following Casey, chastised. "You heard Miss Sarah. Stay with me."

"Why don't we head back outside, actually?" She was suddenly anxious to put as much distance between Violet and that room as she possibly could until all of the guns were safely in a vault, away from four-year-old fingers. "It's a nice day, and I could use a break. You want anything? Water, soda, juice?"

"A water'd be great."

"What about you, Miss Violet?"

Violet didn't answer, as she was too busy peering into a halfway open box; thankfully, that one only seemed to hold picture frames.

"Hey, Vi," Chuck said, and Violet's head shot up, guiltily. "Miss Sarah asked you a question."

"Um, what?"

"The etiquette thing is still new," Chuck remarked to Sarah. To Vi, he said, "Miss Sarah asked if you wanted a juice."

"Yes, please." Vi shot a grin at Sarah that made the spy suspect this was a pretty common tactic. Mercenary, Chuck had called her, though he'd smiled as he had said it. Sarah was starting to see what he meant, which only made her want to laugh—something, she suspected, that would only egg Violet on.

"I'll help you get those drinks. Is it okay if Vi sits on your couch?"

"That's what it's there for."

Once Violet was settled in on the couch ("Sit, stay."), Chuck trailed Sarah back to the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a counter island and cupboards, giving the illusion of two rooms instead of the one. Most of the counters were covered in boxes: new dishes, appliances, all marked "KITCHEN" with the same handwriting on the boxes in her room. The CIA prep team had really earned their paychecks this week.

"We've got approximately ninety seconds before she starts going through boxes," Chuck said in a low voice.

"There's nothing dangerous in there, don't worry."

"I'm more concerned for your privacy, but okay, if you say so."

Sarah glanced over the island separating the kitchen and living room. Vi waved. She waved back. "It's okay, it's just cover stuff, none of it's really real. I'm guessing you wanted to talk to me."

"Yes." Chuck pulled his ball-cap off of his head and began to pass it from hand to hand, an obvious nervous gesture. "I wanted to thank you. For, you know, dealing with the car. It's a relief not to have to worry about it."

"I told you we would." Sarah opened the fridge and took out two water bottles and the carton of orange juice. She held this up for Chuck's inspection. "This is okay, right?"

"Yeah, she likes that stuff."

It took her a few tries to find the box full of glasses, and then the box with the dish soap, as she wasn't sure she trusted the glasses to be clean straight out of the box. "So the car was all right?" she asked.

"If I hadn't seen my car totaled with my own eyes, I wouldn't know the difference."

"We're not out to get you, you know," she said, turned off the tap and shaking the glass to get rid of some of the excess water. "Last night was just a bit intense."

"A bit?"

"Okay, it was a farce. But we're not gunning for you or anything. We've moved in here to protect you."

"You mean the Intersect," Chuck said.

Sarah bit down hard on the inside of her cheek before she could make the mistake of pointing out that unfortunately, right now, the two were one and the same. "Look, you're pis—" She shot a look over her shoulder at Vi. "Mad at me. I get that. But what do you want me to do? I can't change the circumstances. All I can do is my job, which is right now to protect you, and Violet, and the Intersect. It's not ideal at all, but this is the best we've got right now. It's an adjustment for all of us."

"It shouldn't have to be. This shouldn't be happening."

"Bad things happen to good people, Chuck." It hurt to have to echo Casey's words, but they fit.

"Don't I know it." Chuck continued to twist the cap in his hands, viciously now. Sarah nearly told him to stop, that it would distress the fabric, but checked herself. "I'm not mad at you."

Sarah wanted to ask him, really? Because he sure seemed like it.

"I'm just frustrated."

_And upset, and scared, and confused_.

"And now I've got all of this stuff in my brain and I can't figure out why, why Bryce would do this, and why he would do this to me. Meanwhile, I've got literal secret agents moving in next door, and they're using words like bunkers and 'letting' me keep my own damned daughter, and I didn't do a single thing wrong." Chuck pushed the hat back onto his head. "So yes, I'm mad. Maybe at you, a little, but who I'm really mad at is Bryce, and it's unfair because he's dead, and it feels wrong to be mad at a dead man, but there you have it."

"It's going to be okay," Sarah heard herself say.

Chuck gave her a skeptical look.

"Nobody but you, me, Casey, and my bosses know that you're the Intersect, so you're safe. You're just another citizen to ninety-nine point nine-however many nines of the population. Which means that Violet, to everybody else, is just the daughter of another average, everyday citizen."

"Which also comes with its share of problems," Chuck muttered, taking the water bottle she held out.

"Do you always worry this much?"

"It's genetic."

"Uh-huh." Sarah deliberately glanced over Chuck's shoulder at Violet, who was drumming her chucks against the front of the couch and staring at the ceiling with her neck craned, obviously fascinated by the old patterns in the plaster.

Chuck got the message and scowled. "She's four. It doesn't set in til later. Or maybe it missed her. Whatever, I still think I'm right to worry. I had to convince myself not to go out and buy a guard dog for her this morning."

"It would be bigger than her," Sarah said, her eyebrows lowering as she tried to picture the pint-sized Bartowski next to a Rottweiler.

"That's kind of the point."

"Okay. Either way, why don't we head outside? Violet can run around the backyard—there's a swing-set the previous tenants left here, and we can talk without her trying her hardest to eavesdrop."

"She's not—" Chuck turned and sighed. "Of course she is."

"Don't worry, the acoustics in here aren't that great. Hey, Violet, got your juice."

The four-year-old scrambled off of the couch and all but bounced into the kitchen. "You got it?" Sarah asked when Violet took the glass from her with both hands. They should probably get some plastic cups for the house. It seemed like Chuck and Violet were a package deal, judging by the fact that he'd brought her along for the afternoon.

"Hey, what's this?" Chuck asked, booting Vi gently on the top of the head with the side of his hand. "I didn't hear a thank-you."

"Oh, right. Thank you, Miss Sarah."

"You're welcome."

"It's a process," Chuck explained. "We've got please down. Just working on thank you."

"Ah." The new house had a pool, which Sarah intended to use as much as she could, though they still needed to have it filled. Even so, the concrete pit was surrounded by a fence, making the whole yard safer overall. Since they didn't have lawn chairs unpacked yet, they sat on the edge of the back porch and Vi took off straight for the swing-set. "Where does she get all of that energy?"

"I have no idea," Chuck said, "though I think scientists are trying to harness it for use in next-gen technology."

"Mm-hmm." Sarah took a long drink of water. "I think it's okay for you to be mad at Bryce," she said.

"Um, thank you?"

"You seemed like you were feeling guilty over that. I don't think you need to. I don't know what Bryce was planning to do, but you can be mad at him. He screwed you over."

"That he did. What about you?"

"I don't know. Obviously I'm biased, so I don't want you to be mad at me and it's really counter-productive, if you think about it."

"No, I meant, I'm not the only one getting screwed over here. You're moving to the suburbs to watch over some unknown civilian because of something Bryce did. I mean, if you work for the CIA, you're like an international woman of mystery. Penthouses, fast cars, bad guys."

"It's really not that glamorous," Sarah lied.

"It's gotta be more glamorous than my life," Chuck said in a tone that made her glance over in surprise. He was toying with the water bottle cap, unscrewing it and screwing it back on. "I mean, I sleep on a sofa bed."

"Why?"

"Don't have enough saved up to build onto the house yet, and it works out for the best. I'll probably cave and put a twin bed in the office."

Sarah wrinkled her nose.

"No room for anything bigger." Chuck abruptly jumped. Sarah did the same, internally. That conversation had been bizarrely _normal_ for a secret agent to share with her angry asset. She covered by looking down at the scraggly grass shooting up around the edge of the porch, while Chuck cleared his throat. "Anyway, I know I've been avoiding this subject, but I think..." His hand twisted around the cap, hard. "What's going to happen?"

"You go on living your life. The NSA is trying to figure out a way to get the Intersect out of your head."

Chuck's head shot up. "That's possible?"

"I don't know. But they've got their best scientists on it." Sarah pulled up a tuft of grass. "Casey and I'll live here and run surveillance on your place. It's best if you just tell your sister and the others that we're dating. The more they know, the more danger they're in."

Chuck frowned, but it was a minute before he said anything. "So, you're going to be my fake girlfriend? I don't know if anybody would really buy that."

"This from the man whose daughter just asked me if I'm going to have his babies?"

"Her best friend just got a baby brother," Chuck said, wincing, "and now she wants one, too."

"Oh. Well, I can tell you, that will not be part of my duties as your handler. Morning sickness is hell on the Kung Fu skills."

"Was that—did you just crack a joke?"

She was a little proud of herself, but she only shrugged. "It doesn't have to be awful," she said, surprising herself yet again. "It's not all bad, doing the things we do, Chuck. Casey and I'll do our best to keep things like last night from happening again, but we—no, you, _you _saved a lot of lives. And who knows? Maybe we'll get the Intersect out of your head and be gone from your life as early as next week."

"One can hope," Chuck said. "Though, you know, you could send a card if you wanted. And Casey could, too. Vi's quite attached to him."

"Major Casey sir?" Sarah couldn't fight the grin.

Chuck grinned back. "This way only leads to trouble, I think. But we've taken you away from your boxes long enough. Megabyte! Time to go!"

Sarah walked them out as far as the moving truck, Violet chattering the entire time at that rapid fire rate Sarah both admired and feared. When they reached the truck, Violet surprised Sarah by giving the agent a hug, wrapping both arms around Sarah's waist and squeezing. Awkwardly, Sarah patted the child on the back.

"Thank you for letting me see your house, Miss Sarah, and for the juice," Violet said, all politeness.

"You're very welcome," Sarah said, fighting back yet another laugh at the way Chuck narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his daughter and mouthed, 'She wants something!' at Sarah. "You and your father are welcome back anytime, but maybe you should wait until the house is better put together so that you can get the grand tour."

_And there aren't so many loose weapons out_.

She waved them off and turned to find that Casey had emerged from hiding and was watching the duo walk away with a mistrustful look on his face. "It's a conspiracy," Casey said before Sarah could comment.

"What is?"

"Small children. Government conspiracy, they're out to get us, I'm sure of it."

"Aw, Casey, she liked you," Sarah said, smiling. "I thought the salute was a nice touch."

"Shut up, Walker. I'm not the one in danger of trading her firearms for baby bottles here." Casey disappeared into the truck, leaving the bottom to fall out from Sarah's stomach. Chuck was right. This way could only lead to trouble.

She ruthlessly pushed the thought from her mind, climbed into the moving van, and made one more step towards setting up her—hopefully temporary—new life.


	9. Battles on the Playground

**A/N**: She's baaaaaaaaaack!

* * *

**Battles on the Playground**

Gifted children, especially the verbally gifted ones, are often compared to lawyers: they argue as if they are in court. The case they are usually arguing is their own. They argue about rules, about punishment, discipline, bedtime, dinner. Basically, they'll argue about nearly anything they don't like or they want to avoid. Although a gifted child can make excellent arguments, it's important for parents to make sure they remain in charge.

— **About(dot)Com Article about Gifted Children**

* * *

Chuck Bartowski was having a bad day.

He had bad days a lot, he knew. It wasn't easy running your own business in Los Angeles as a one-man operation and paying for the mortgage and care of a four-year-old, even when you had help from two doctors and child support. Sometimes his work ate his life. Sometimes things seemed just too overwhelming. And sometimes, the universe just aligned into a perfect delineation of suck. He was sure it wasn't personal.

Though, to be honest, he'd noticed, his own bad days happened most often because his four-year-old was having a bad day. Or, in other words, she was being a brat.

Just like today. And it wasn't even time for breakfast yet.

"What's wrong with the purple one, again?" he asked, fighting back the desire to pinch the bridge of his nose.

His sweet little angel's eyes practically turned red. "It's too purple!"

"There's no such thing as too purple."

"Nuh-uh. It is. Wanna wear the white one."

"We've been over this one. The white one's dirty—you wore it yesterday."

"So? Wanna wear it again."

She'd been getting clothing advice from Uncle Morgan again. Chuck had to bite back a noise somewhere between a groan of frustration and a sigh. "Well, you can't, so pick another shirt. How about the blue one with the flowers Aunt Ellie brought back from Hawaii? What about that one?"

"I hate blue!"

Chuck had to actually bite his tongue before he could mention that just the day before, Violet's favorite color had been blue, and she had used it to draw an entire blue cow—a picture she had made for "Major Casey Sir." Some battles were better left not fought, he'd learned.

"Okay," he said, turning back to Violet's dresser while the four-old-continued to sit on the edge of her bed, arms crossed over her chest and a sulk firmly in place. They'd mutually agreed on jeans for the day, but she was still wearing his old Batman T-shirt, a favorite pajama shirt. It honestly looked like she might be wearing it all day, at the rate they were going. He'd been hoping to get in a quick trip to the park, really wear her out so that he could get in some work this afternoon, but if the whole day was going to go like this, maybe he was better off locking her in the basement they didn't have.

And that was a horrible thought. He bit back a sigh. He hadn't been sleeping well.

"Well, how about red?" he asked, continuing to sift through the drawer of Violet's shirts. When the hell had she acquired so many? It wasn't like she had grandparents to dote on her.

"Want the white one!"

"I've already said you can't wear that one because I am not doing a load of laundry for just one shirt. Now, it looks like we're going to have to compromise."

"What's compromise?" Violet asked.

"It means you and I come up with a second choice together."

"I don't wanna do that."

"Hence the nature of compromising. But, look, here, this one's white." He spotted the shirt at the bottom of the pile and clung to it like a drowning man grabbing a lifeline. "How about this one?" _Please, please work with me on this_.

She didn't look happy about it.

"C'mon, it's white, and it's got a violet on the front of it." He waved the shirt almost like a matador tempting a bull.

Violet let out a sigh like the four-going-on-fourteen-year-old she was, and said, "Fine, Daddy." But her eyes told another story: she was _not _going to be happy about this development, and she would let him know later.

_Fine. As long as it gets us past the "getting dressed" stage of the day and into other, more important things, then she can let me know as much as she likes._

Violet pulled on the hated shirt and shoes, and they headed downstairs, where World War Three occurred over the fact that there weren't any Sugar Smacks left for breakfast. There were follow-up skirmishes about the fact that Violet didn't want to finish her orange juice and that she wanted braids instead of pigtails, and then one final battle because she wanted to watch _Spongebob _instead of going to the park.

In the future, Chuck had to remember not to let his sweet little demonic offspring stay up too late with Uncle Morgan again. She might the center of his universe, but man, when she dug her heels in, mules could sit down and take lessons.

After what felt like an eternity, he practically hauled her out the front door over his shoulder. His nerves, by this point, were shot, Violet was openly sulking, and it wasn't even ten o'clock in the morning yet. It was going to be a _long _day. It would probably be shorter after he and Violet finished arguing over her afternoon nap, he figured. Once she got a little more sleep, she'd probably be okay. But until that point, they'd all suffer through it.

Well, realistically, he would be the only one suffering through it. Ellie and Devon had to work today, the lucky dogs.

"Why do we have to go to the park?" Violet whined. "I don't—"

"Wanna, I know, I know. Humor me."

"What's that mean?"

"It means do what I say and then maybe I'll spring for..." Chuck stopped himself before he could mention the words "ice cream" aloud. That way would only lead to trouble.

Besides, he'd just spotted the leggy blonde carrying a grocery bag from her car to her front porch.

_Why the hell couldn't I have had neighbors like that _before _the government decided to ruin my life? Working from home would have been about ten times better._

He didn't get long to ruminate on this thought; Sarah turned to head back to her car and spotted both of them. The smile immediately spread, and he felt the customary doubt: was that a real smile or was she playing a role?

"Hey, guys," Sarah said, and crossed her front lawn. "What're you up to?"

"Hi." Violet suddenly forgot she was mad at Chuck for anything and everything on the planet and promptly hid behind his leg. Oh great, Chuck thought, she's going for shy today. The other day, she had practically adopted Sarah as the mother of any brothers and sisters she might have, and today, she was hiding behind him.

And as a woman, it was her prerogative to only get more confusing as she grew older. It made him suddenly feel tired.

He covered by returning Sarah's smile with an unsure one of his own. "We're park-ward bound this morning. Hey, Sarah. Grocery shopping? This early?"

"Casey needed some Pop Tarts, and I needed to get out of the house." Sarah bounced a shoulder and turned her smile toward Violet, who of course only sidled farther behind Chuck. Though Sarah shot a confused look at Chuck, it didn't seem to deter her much. "Hi, Miss Violet. That's a very pretty shirt."

The prolonged war over the shirt choice was instantly forgotten as Violet lost some of her shyness and beamed. "Thank you," she said without any prompting whatsoever, an amazement in itself.

Chuck wanted to throw his hands to the sky and give up.

"Major Casey Sir likes Pop Tarts?"

"And beef jerky. It's amazing he's not bigger than he is." Sarah glanced from father to daughter and cleared her throat. "Do you think I could walk with you for a bit?"

"You want to go to the park, too?"

"Sure, if you're willing to show me where it is. I haven't been there yet."

"We'll show you!" All of her shyness was now long history. Violet practically danced around Chuck now, bulleting for Sarah. At least this time the other woman didn't look freaked out, as she had the other day, when Violet wrapped herself around Sarah's waist. Violet belatedly remembered Chuck was even there. "Can we, Daddy?"

"I don't see why not." At least, Chuck thought, Violet would be easier to deal with now that she'd found her new favorite person on the planet. How he felt about Violet attaching herself to a government agent, he didn't know, but Sarah has so far seemed to be on their side. And hey, if she made the day go by faster by getting Violet out of her grumpy mood, then more power to Sarah. "If she wants to come, that is."

Vi rolled her eyes at him. Ah, there was the attitude. "Daddy, she already _said _she did."

Sarah looked like she might have wanted to say something about that to Violet, but evidently just bit her lip.

Vi barreled on before Chuck could figure out what to say to that. "Can Major Casey Sir come, too?"

"Maybe next time. Let me go put this bag inside and then I'll walk with you." Now, Sarah shot Chuck a look. It was quick, but he got the message anyway: _we need to talk_.

If there were four words in any human language—or alien language, really, any language at all—a guy wanted to hear first thing in the morning, it wasn't those. But it beat out an argument about a shirt being "too purple" by a mile, so Chuck just gave her a resigned shrug. That caused a flicker of puzzlement to cross her face before she reset her expression back to politely interested in the stream of chatter Violet directed at her all the way up the front walk and back to the sidewalk with Chuck.

It was amazing how fast you could get used to an idea, he thought as the three of them set out. Even a week before, if somebody had mentioned the idea of the Intersect, he would have written it off as ridiculous science fiction. And government agents moving in next door? Ellie would call it playing too many video games. But here was Sarah, hands in her pockets as she obviously tried to follow the thread of Violet's tales about the pre-K class she attended three days a week. Their very own spy nanny in living, breathing Technicolor.

By the time Violet had moved onto the Great Paste Scandal of Wednesday, they had reached the park, and Chuck had yet to say a word. Sarah glanced at him time and again, that quick, furtive way she had of doing so, but he stayed quiet.

"I like the slide the best," Violet announced out of thin air as they reached the park. She twisted to look up at Sarah, whose hand she had been holding for the past five minutes. "Wanna go on the slide?"

"Why don't you go ahead without me?" Sarah asked, glancing at Chuck again. "I want to talk to you father for a minute."

"Okay," Violet said, and took off without further prompting. Chuck didn't bother to call after her to warn her to stay in sight. Violet knew the park rules well by now.

"C'mon," he said. "There's a park bench over here. We can talk about whatever it is you want to talk about."

They circled the playground, heading for the only abandoned bench. The others were all occupied by the neighborhood moms and nannies—Chuck waved to Violet's best friend Moniqua's mother as they passed, and nodded at Allison, Darby the Terror's nanny. Both women smiled back at him, and Shae, Moniqua's mother, shot a puzzled grin at Sarah.

If Sarah stuck around, Chuck would have to introduce them, but he'd put it off for now.

"Rough morning?" Sarah asked, her eyebrows raised as she sat next to him.

"It's amazing they don't predict World War Three more often," Chuck said, keeping an eye on Violet as she scrambled up the slide stairs, "given the battles I've been through over things like shirt color."

Sarah's eyebrows went up further. "Well, Violet seems to know her own mind. That's a good thing."

"Yes, yes she does. A double dose of Bartowski stubbornness." Which worried him, but there didn't seem to be much he could do to change it. So he sighed. "What did you want to talk about?"

"There's a scientist, the best one the NSA has to offer. He worked on the Intersect project." Sarah's brow creased for a second as her gaze swept the playground, as if she wasn't sure what she was actually doing there. Then those eyes focused on him again, making it temporarily hard to breathe. He hoped he got over that reaction soon. He didn't like being twisted around by a spy. "He's on his way out here now, to look at your case."

Hope began to flutter. "He can take the Intersect out?"

"I don't know."

"Oh." Chuck felt himself deflate. "Guess that'd be too much to ask for, at this stage. So, what do we do, then?"

"We set up a meet where Zarnow can't see or hear you. And then we let him do his job. What that is, I don't know. The bosses haven't really briefed me too much on it."

"What if…" Chuck took a deep breath and forced him to focus. "What if he can't take the Intersect out, Sarah? What then?"

"Then we'll decide where to go from there."

"But you and Casey won't be going anywhere." It wasn't a question. Chuck looked steadily at Sarah now, almost daring her to deliver the bad news he was positive was coming. Nothing, after all, had gone his way in the past few days. "Hope you like suburbia."

"It…doesn't look all that bad," Sarah said, and Chuck wondered what kind of spy could get away with being so terrible at lying. "And I think Zarnow will get results."

"Good. If he doesn't—if he doesn't, I want to tell Ellie."

Sarah jerked in surprise. "What?"

Part of the reason he hadn't been able to sleep the night before came flooding back, but Chuck didn't tear his gaze away from Sarah's. He made sure to keep calm, a trick he usually reserved for antsy or troublesome clients. "If this doesn't work and I really am stuck as your precious Intersect, then Ellie needs to know all of the details," he said, using the 'I'm the programmer and this is the smarter way to do things' voice.

The tone had absolutely no affect on Sarah. "Out of the question. Ellie can't know."

Though he felt his hackles rise, Chuck kept his voice lowered, mindful of the kids playing a few yards away. "Why?"

"Do you know what kind of aneurism my bosses would have if we just started telling civilians willy-nilly?"

"She's not a civilian, she's my sister."

"Even so," Sarah said, scowling. "This project is on thin ice as it is. It's bad enough we put the Intersect into the head of an innocent civilian, we don't need to complicate things further."

"And whose fault was that?"

Sarah's façade dropped another notch, allowing more frustration to shine through. "It's not about fault, Chuck. It's about, well, it's about survival, when you really think about it. Telling Ellie about this will have ramifications that I may not be able to stop."

Anger began to spread through him, though when he spoke, his voice was flat. "You're asking me to lie to my sister."

"Yes. The less she knows about this, the safer she'll be." Sarah at least had the grace to look apologetic. "Tell your family nothing to keep them safe. This is serious business we're dabbling in here."

How did she not get it? He was Chuck Bartowski. He didn't _lie _to his family. The minute Sophie had come to him with news that she was pregnant, and that he was the father, he hadn't tried to hide it. He'd gone straight to Ellie. When Bryce had gotten him kicked from Stanford, Ellie and Morgan had been the first people he'd told. He didn't want to become the guy who hid things and generally acted like a douche. Chuck clenched his fists.

"Besides," Sarah said, probably sensing she'd struck a nerve, "who knows? It may never come up if Zarnow is successful."

"Hooray," Chuck said tonelessly.

"Speaking of which, can you get away for a 'date' tonight? We'll let Zarnow get started."

Begrudgingly, Chuck reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, paging open to the calendar application. He squinted at the house schedule. "Yeah, it looks like Ellie plans to be home. She's got an early shift tomorrow, though, so I can't stay out too late."

"We'll get you home early, I promise." Sarah looked relieved. Carefully, she laid her hand on Chuck's arm; he looked down at it, but didn't respond. "And I'm sorry about this thing with Ellie, Chuck. But it's a balancing act, and the more people that know, the more people that are in danger. And look at the bright side: by this time tomorrow, I might be gone from your life."

Despite the fact that he was still annoyed, Chuck felt a surprisingly strong stab of disappointment at the thought. "Yeah, here's hoping," was all he said, though.

Sarah paused for a second, and it looked like she might say something else, but eventually she simply nodded. "All right, well. I'd better get going. Tell Violet good-bye for me?"

"Will do."

"And I'll pick you up at 7:30."

"Sounds good."

Sarah saved her farewell and set off. He watched her go until she was out of sight, partially because he was trying to figure out what had been truth and what had been falsehood in her speech to him, and partially because he was, well, breathing. Once she was gone, though, he scrubbed his hands over his face and checked to make sure no major harm had befallen his daughter.

Since Violet was happily chasing Moniqua around, scrambling across the little bridge on the playground and up the ramps, he leaned back and pondered Sarah's words. Would Ellie truly be safer if she had no idea what was going on in his life? If she were completely disconnected from the spy life that had overtaken his? On the surface, he could agree with Sarah's assessment, but...

_Buck up_, he tried to tell himself. He theoretically had a date with a beautiful almost-stranger, and it looked like Violet had kicked her bad mood completely, which meant that his bad day should be getting better. He really didn't think that was the case, though.

And given that he really, really didn't want to have to lie to his sister or his family, it looked like things weren't going to get much better from here on out.

* * *

**A/N the Second: **Sorry for any errors; this was completely unbeta'd. In fact, my beta had no idea I was even close to updating this one, actually.


	10. Riding in Cars with Boys

**A/N the First**: So while reading this chapter, keep in mind that we are dealing with the John Casey of Season One. We don't have years of Bartowski schmoopiness softening the big guy. This is a government agent doing his job and sticking to his own beliefs. Also, don't expect things to be okay overnight. Just because the show wraps things up in 42 minutes every week doesn't mean I have to play by those same rules. Although, I will say that **mxpw **prefers I'd play by the show's rules a little more and put Sarah Walker in skimpy outfits. He must live a life of such disappointment being stuck with me as a friend.

Now, y'all remember _Chuck vs. the Helicopter, _right?

* * *

**Riding in Cars with Boys**

I still haven't accepted that this is my life. And I just wish that I could be dumb. And then I wouldn't know better and I could be happy and stop hoping.

— **_Riding in Cars with Boys_**

* * *

Chuck was waiting on his front porch, sitting on the top step, when Sarah stepped outside to go pick him up for their date. She was surprised, though she wasn't sure why she would be. Chuck had the responsibility thing down to a tee. Of course he would be on time.

When he spotted her, he rose to his feet. "Hey," he said, crossing the lawn between their houses. "It occurs to me that, were this dating thing actually real, dating your neighbor would actually be really nice. If you wanted to stay in, you'd save a lot of gas."

"Mm-hmm," Sarah said, ignoring the pang she felt at the words "were this dating thing actually real." She in no way wanted to explore that feeling now, not when she had been up late the night before, looking at pictures from Cabo on her phone and trying to fight the confusion that invariably came whenever she thought of Bryce. "Any problems?"

"Nope. They're having another girls' night. No boys allowed, so it all works out."

Sarah studied him as he walked the last few steps to her Porsche. That morning, he'd looked frazzled and frustrated and upset, all of which hadn't been helped along by the bags beneath his eyes. Neither daughter nor father had looked at all happy, but now Chuck seemed almost relaxed and rested. "You look better," she said, careful to keep her voice neutral.

"When I put Vi down for a nap, I decided that was a good idea myself. Client extended a deadline, so..." Chuck scratched the back of his head. "So, is there, like, a secret lab underground where Dr. Zarnow's going to perform his mad scientist experiments on me? Because I'll be up front: if needles are involved, girlish screams of terror might be, too."

"I don't think needles are on the agenda." They climbed into the Porsche, and Sarah fought another pang that he hadn't complimented her appearance, given the time she'd spent getting ready for the date. _It's not real_, she told herself, and put the car in reverse.

"How about probes? I need to check these things in advance, you know."

"No probes, either."

"Electrodes? I've always wanted to wear those. It'll make me feel like a real freak of nature."

Sarah squinted as she pulled out of their subdivision. "Must've been some nap," she said.

"I get to get out of the house without a four-year-old chaperone." When she shot a surprised look at him, Chuck held up both hands for peace. "I really don't get out much."

"Apparently."

"And speaking of getting out, where are we going?"

"We're, ah, borrowing an empty office for the night." Thankfully, Casey had taken point on supervising the installation of all of that, giving her the afternoon off. She'd been uneasy for most of the day after their almost-argument in the park, so she'd given the heavy bag in their basement a thorough beating until most of the lingering frustration had passed. "It shouldn't take too long. We'll let Zarnow do a little diagnosing and then figure out what he needs to do."

"Oh. So no chance for a movie and drinks?"

"No."

"Damn. I was kind of hoping you'd be into zombies."

Sarah shot a puzzled look at him. "I'm sorry?"

Though Chuck had been looking out the window, tapping a finger against the handle atop the door, he glanced at her now, smiling a little. "There's a new Resident Evil movie out. I thought, maybe, being a CIA agent, badass chick with a shotgun might be your thing."

"What does that have to do with zombies?"

"She uses the shotgun to kill the—you know, never mind."

Sarah cleared her throat. "You know this isn't actually a date."

"I know." Chuck sounded surprisingly glum about that. "All right. Bring on this mad scientist of yours."

"Zarnow's one of the most respected scientists in the NSA," Sarah felt the need to say.

"And that's excellent. It means he'll get this thing out of my head faster. But I have this image of a mad scientist in either a World War II trench coat or a lab coat, cackling while I sit strapped to a chair with electrodes on my forehead."

Sarah pulled into the turn lane. "I see where Violet gets her imagination from."

"I know, I know, it's cuter in a four-year-old." Chuck laughed, and she finally caught the edge to his voice that he had been hiding rather well, apparently. "I have this, this tendency to babble when I'm nervous, it's a very special form of logorrhea directly connected the fear neurons in my brain, they've proved it scientifically and—"

And he wasn't going to stop unless she said something. "Chuck," Sarah said.

He immediately stopped talking, looking sheepish. "Yes?"

"Exactly what's making you nervous here?"

"Y—" Chuck broke off mid-word and scrubbed a hand over his face, clearly embarrassed. "I really, really don't like needles."

He had been intending to say something else, Sarah determined, though she had no idea what. She cast about for anything to say, as talking really wasn't her strong suit. "What do you tell Violet when she gets her shots?"

"That I'll buy her ice cream later when Ellie's not around to catch us?"

Sarah laughed. "Do I need to promise you I'll buy you an ice cream cone later?"

"Only if you get one, too."

"You know I'm just messing with you, right?" Sarah felt the need to ask when she made the turn into the parking lot for the office they'd liberated for the evening.

"It's okay. When it comes to needles, my four-year-old handles them better than I do. You can say that."

"I'm sure you'll be fine," Sarah said.

"I hope so. Mad scientist cracks aside, I really am excited about this, you know. Maybe Zarnow will know what to do, and this whole thing that Bryce sent me can just be viewed as some sort of cosmic misunderstanding that the bureaucrats can chuckle over in a few years." Chuck's face brightened at the thought.

"And life can go back to normal," Sarah said as she parked.

"Oh, right, speaking of normal." Chuck squirmed in his seat to pull out his wallet, and her eyes narrowed. He wasn't about to offer to pay for gas, was he? Chuck, however, pulled out a folded sheet of paper instead of money. "Violet, uh, well, she likes to draw pictures for people in her life. It's kind of a normal thing to find pictures lying around waiting for you."

"I bet that keeps life interesting," Sarah said.

"It does. And today, she drew you a picture." Chuck unfolded the paper and handed it over, and Sarah wondered if it was a trick in the light making him seem redder around the cheeks.

"Oh." Sarah took the paper and squinted. She recognized the stick figure in the middle as a person, and the mass of yellow around its head meant that it was probably supposed to be her, as most of the people in Violet's life were dark-haired. On either side of the blonde stick figure were two large grids with yellow squares inside some of the grid spaces. One of the yellow squares had two smiling stick figure heads peeking through. From the length of the brown clouds around their heads, one was a girl, the other a boy. "Uh..."

Chuck laughed. "It's you in a city."

"I..." She really wasn't sure what she was supposed to say to that.

"You seemed like suburbia was getting to you this morning, so when Vi asked what she should draw for you, this is what I suggested. I think that's her and me, waving at you." Chuck pointed at the square of yellow with the two faces. "She wanted you to have it. Trust me, she draws like ten thousand of them a week, so if you don't want to keep it, really not a big deal."

Sarah very carefully folded the drawing in half. "Well, tell her I say thank you," she said. "It's a great drawing."

"I will. You should see the cow she drew for Casey."

"I really, really can't wait to see that." Now, Sarah finally let the smile break through as she placed the drawing safely out of the way. "You ready?"

"Sure. Bring on the needles, probes, and electrodes."

There weren't any of the three, just as she'd told him. Casey was already in the office building, leaning against one of the desks with his arms folded across the chest. As usual, he regarded Chuck with a look that spoke of all disdain for civilians, but the two men were (relatively) polite in their greetings. Even so, Sarah shepherded Chuck back to the second office before the logorrhea Chuck had mentioned could get him into trouble. It was best for all that they kept things in L.A. as simple as they could.

Dr. Zarnow, it turned out, really did believe in keeping things simple. The Intersect testing took less than half an hour. Sarah stood in the background and watched Chuck's words scroll down the screen in front of the doctor, spilling one secret after the next. It was a relief to be able to stand silently by. She'd never been a talker, even before she'd joined the CIA and their legion of stiff upper lips. But thanks to Chuck, and by extension, Violet, she'd talked more in the past week than she had in the past year.

It was unsettling, even while it was necessary to keep things running smoothly.

"Remarkable," Zarnow murmured while Casey and Sarah looked on, watching Chuck's words from the other room scroll across the screen in front of him. "Truly remarkable. All of our secrets in one brain."

Remarkable? Sarah wanted to ask. It was more like problematic.

"One person," Zarnow went on, "knowing all our secrets."

"Can you get them out?" Casey asked, and Sarah felt like seconding that.

Zarnow looked down for a moment. "Yes," he said, and looked back at both agents. "I can."

Sarah felt twin surges of hope and disappointment. She kept her face carefully composed, though.

It looked like this gig in L.A. truly was temporary. Chuck should appreciate that.

* * *

The sun beat down on the crime scene, baking everything that wasn't supposed to be there beyond recognition. Since the feds had cordoned off a quarter mile in either direction, Sarah had plenty of time to reflect on that principle as Casey drove along. She'd spent ample time in the desert—unsurprising, given the nature of her work—but California seemed...different. The sun burned everything brown and dusty and frankly ugly, and yet people still flocked to the area.

Hadn't she and her father, years before? Of course, Los Angeles and San Diego were spared by being on the cusp of the sea, but out here past the Valley in the middle of nowhere, the world just seemed much bleaker. Adding the shrapnel and wreckage of a car bomb made it worse.

"Suicide bomber?" she asked the agent in charge as he led Casey and herself to the wreckage.

"No trace of the victim. We matched the car thanks to a partial license plate and a rental tracker. Rental agency has it registered to a Zorin, Max."

Zarnow's cover name, Sarah knew.

"No biological remains found on scene," the agent continued.

"Blast this big, that's not surprising," Casey remarked.

Sarah nodded. "Thank you, agent," she told the fed. "You were right to call us immediately."

"I'll go talk to the first responder," Casey said, peering around the scene through his aviators, that permanent scowl in place.

Again, Sarah nodded, and headed over to check out the car. Casey was wrong, she knew. Even a blast that big should have had some sort of...pieces of human left. Unless...she knew the NSA had been working on a device that could remove all biological traces from a blast. It took some scouting, but she eventually found what she was looking for. She scooped it into an evidence bag and slid it into her purse. She turned, and there Casey was, eying her.

"We've left the nerd alone long enough. Find anything?"

"Nothing, but this _is_ Zarnow's car. Nobody could have survived a blast like this."

"Agreed."

You'd know, Sarah thought at Casey as she followed him back to his car, since you were the one that set it, you NSA jerk. Still, she kept her face completely neutral as she climbed into the passenger seat. What on earth was the NSA up to that they would blow up Zarnow?

They'd gone maybe half a mile before Casey cleared his throat. "What's in the bag, Walker?"

"None of your damn business."

Instead of giving her the annoyed look she seen quite a bit in the past few days, Casey laughed. "Oh, go on," he said. "Give me a reason, any reason, to arrest you for concealing crime scene evidence. I need a pick-me-up after a few days of living in yawns-ville, and nothing would make me feel better than to throw you into the back of a police car in cuffs."

Sarah glared. "Living with you isn't exactly a picnic, either."

"Uh-huh. You know what? You're an operative of the damned United States government, Walker. What the hell do you need so many hair products for?"

"What the hell does that have to do with—you know what? None of your damn business, that's what for."

"Figures," Casey said.

Sarah blinked, and the gun seemed to sprout in Casey's fist. Of course, she'd been expecting that since the crime scene, and was really only surprised that it had taken him this long. The minute Casey moved, she threw the seat back, swooping back and out of the way of the gun. She twisted her entire upper torso and clapped both hands over Casey's wrist, chopping with the side of one hand so hard that Casey had no choice but to drop the gun—right into her lap.

"Damn it!" Casey made his lunge, but she was too fast for him; he nearly slammed his jaw into the pistol as she held it up. Quickly, he straightened.

It would be hard to miss in this enclosed space, a fact that Casey knew well, judging by the fact that his fingers tightened on the steering wheel. "Drop the gun, Walker."

"Now, why would I do that?"

"Drop it!"

"Or you'll do what? Glare me to death?" Sarah scoffed, and had to grab the door handle when Casey jerked the wheel. The Suburban careened left...and right into oncoming traffic. "Casey! What are you doing!"

"I figure it's pretty obvious, Walker. Drop the gun or the minivan gets it."

Sarah could see the automobile in question, barreling straight toward them in the same lane. The driver's eyes were just beginning to widen as he realized what was going on.

Casey stomped the accelerator.

"You're insane!"

"Drop the gun."

The minivan tried to swerve into the other lane. Traffic blocked it in.

Casey's gaze never wavered.

"Casey, those are innocent people!"

"So drop the gun."

Sarah could see the eye color of the other driver now. "Casey!"

"Choice is yours, Walker." Casey was smirking now.

It felt like an eternity, in which they were trapped in some strange tableau, Sarah pointing the gun at Casey, Casey pointing the Suburban at the other car, and the minivan hurtling toward both of them, utterly unable to escape. The hair on Sarah's arms rose. Casey was never going to back down. And the minivan was so close, so close that she could see the other passengers—

Sarah threw the gun into the backseat, out of Casey's reach. With a satisfied grunt, Casey jerked the wheel back, the Suburban all but jumping back into the proper lane of traffic with only a coat of paint to spare between the two cars.

Even though he'd won and they both knew it, Sarah still took her sweet time opening her purse and removing the evidence bag. She passed it over to Casey without a word.

There was instant recognition on his face, which surprised her—she had expected him to deny all knowledge of any incinerator—as he turned the device back and forth, examining the charred remains of what looked like a cell phone and keeping an eye on the road at the same time. She was grateful for the latter. They'd traumatized enough minivan drivers today.

Finally, Casey spoke. "Quite the leap of deduction, Walker. NSA incinerator, NSA agent. Only one problem: when I kill somebody, I kill them so I can see their face. Bombs aren't my style. Also, I prefer to leave bodies behind."

"Classy," Sarah said, rolling her eyes.

"Nice try, though," Casey said, tossing the incinerator back.

"What?"

"Faking suspicion so that I don't suspect you. Nice touch."

"Why on earthwould I want to kill Zarnow? He's my ticket out of here." Sarah tucked the evidence bag away and only through steely resolve didn't add, "and away from you."

After all, she was living in a house with an honest-to-God picture of Ronald Reagan over the mantle.

"Don't ask me to translate your screwed-up CIA ways. Maybe Zarnow looked at you funny."

"I didn't kill Zarnow."

"Uh-huh. Sure."

Sarah rolled her eyes for the umpteenth time and leaned back against the seat. Casey's claim to only want to see his victims' faces actually made sense, given the service record she'd pulled. Top of the line sniper turned hunting dog for the NSA. It fit.

But she'd keep her lingering suspicion, even so.

"What are we going to tell Chuck?" she asked now.

"He's your asset. Tell him to suck it up and start pulling his weight."

"Oh, sure, that'll go over well."

"This whole operation isn't inspiring a great deal of confidence in the practices of the CIA. The NSA knows how to control its assets."

"Yeah, he listened to you _real _well at the hotel the other night."

Casey shrugged.

Sarah couldn't help but marvel now, though. It was something that had sat with her for a couple of days, but she hadn't actually verbalized it. And given that she wouldn't have the chance again, she spoke now. "I mean, I pointed a gun at him and it didn't phase him."

"He told you to go to hell." Casey's sneer held no small amount of glee.

"Yeah, he did." And it rankled, somewhat, but it had been deserved, she supposed. Chuck had a family to protect. "How many civilians do you know that would do that? I mean, you point a gun at somebody, and usually they just cower."

"More balls than sense," Casey said, shrugging. "Why are we talking about this, Walker?"

"Zarnow's dead," Sarah said. "You and I both read the reports. If anybody could get the Intersect out of Chuck's head, it would've been him, and he's gone. So we're stuck here with an Intersect that doesn't want anything to do with us."

"That was your choice. I wanted him thrown in a bunker."

Sarah flashed back to the minivan and decided Casey didn't really have a better nature to appeal to. "You're a real humanitarian."

"Don't care. Government secrets'll be safer in a bunker."

"Just like they were safe in DC?" Sarah raised an eyebrow.

"CIA's fault, not mine." Casey tapped the side of his thumb on the wheel and broke off with a scowl. "There's a break in the chain somewhere." It wasn't a question.

"We put Chuck in a bunker, what's to say that same break in the chain won't happen again?"

"Because Larkin is dead," Casey said, his voice smug.

Sarah closed her eyes. She'd been reading the newspaper when they'd gotten the call about Zarnow's car being found out past the Valley, where it had no rights to be at all. The CIA had given Bryce a nice write-up, the cover of a bank robbery. Bryce had been allowed to play the hero in his final article.

"Yeah, but he didn't work alone, Casey. He had help from somewhere, and that help could reach Chuck in a bunker."

"Could reach him just as easily outside of one, too. The whole situation sucks. Put it that way to your boy when you break the news."

"He's not my boy."

"Uh-huh, sure," Casey said again.

"So I've got to tell Chuck," Sarah said, ignoring Casey now, "that the best hope he had of getting the Intersect out of his head is now dead, and he can either leave his family behind and go in a bunker or stay with them, but he's probably in danger either way, and we have no idea who would possibly be gunning for Zarnow if it's not either one of us."

Casey was silent for a minute, still tapping the steering wheel. "This should be easy," he said after a moment. "How do you do it? You lie. Why is that so hard for you on this, Walker?"

"It's not," Sarah said quickly. Possibly too quickly, she saw, but there wasn't anything she could change about it.

Casey sighed. "Your first asset with a kid?"

"What?"

"Is this your first asset with a kid?"

Yes. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I had an asset a couple of years back," Casey said, and it was like every word was being forced from him, he spoke so begrudgingly. "Young woman. Had a seven-year-old son. Bright kid. You know, for being a conspiracy."

"What happened?"

"I didn't have to burn them. I got lucky. But I also learned not to get attached. Don't get attached, Walker."

"Thanks, Casey. Noted." Sarah added a healthy dose of sarcasm to her words.

"I mean that. We do our jobs so that other people can live the American dream. So when you see Bartowski, you tell him about Zarnow, but you lie and say that everything's going to be okay even when you don't have the first clue in hell whether it is or not. What's in Bartowski's head is more valuable than the rest of us put together." Casey sent a final scowl her way, possibly for making him talk so much. "And don't ever forget that, Walker."

_But what about _Chuck_ getting to live the American Dream?_

"Okay," Casey said in a tone that said _we're done talking about this_, "so you talk to Bartowski, I'll start research, see if Zarnow possibly told anybody else he was going to be out here. We're the only ones who knew he was going to be here."

"Us and Chuck, yeah."

She could see Casey turning that thought over in his head, possibly wondering if Chuck was involved, until finally the NSA agent laughed and shook his head. "I'll talk to his superiors at headquarters. It could be completely unrelated. Zarnow's worked several high-profile cases in the past few years. We'll both stick close to base in the meantime."

"All right," Sarah said, and the rest of the car ride passed in silence, as she pondered Casey's words. There had been...relief in his voice when he'd talked about never having to burn his former asset, the one with the "bright, conspiracy" kid. It was hidden by layers of Casey gruffness, but she'd recognized it nonetheless. And if she were going to be honest with herself, how much of this was because she was worried about Chuck, or Chuck and his daughter? Violet Bartowski served to muck up the gears of any possible project they would hope to do. She would always be Chuck's first priority, which meant that if Sarah wanted to keep things running smoothly, she would also have to consider Violet a priority as well.

Don't get attached, Walker.

She waited until they were home before doing the cowardly thing and sending Chuck a message via computer instead of calling him outright. The reply was almost instantaneous: Busy now, come by in hour?

She sent a message back: That's fine.

This time, there was no reply. Sarah closed the laptop lid and leaned back, looking around her room. Some of the things were still in boxes, but it was mostly unpacked, and the set dressers over at the Agency—she didn't know which Agency, and didn't really care—had apparently had a very bland theme in mind when they'd picked out her décor. Blue and cream, like something that might be seen in the beach house at the Hamptons. In L.A. suburbia, it was a little out of place.

She'd told herself that it didn't really matter much, but with the untimely death of Zarnow, the move looked a great deal more permanent until they could figure out the next step in getting the Intersect out of Chuck. In the meantime, the bosses would undoubtedly move forward in figuring out how to use the Intersect to its fullest capabilities. Who knew how long she would be here? How long would she have to keep Chuck, his daughter, and this strange life at a distance?

With a sigh, she rose to her feet and crossed to the room's dresser and picked up the only personal touch in the place. It was easy to fold the piece of paper up: there were still fold-lines from Chuck's wallet the night before. She slid Violet's drawing into her desk drawer where she wouldn't see it all of the time and went downstairs to help Casey make phone calls.


	11. Riding in Cars with Villains

**A/N the First:** Okay, so it's...been a couple of years. I _am _sorry for that, by the way, but I am thrilled to be able to come back and finish one of my greatest WIPs, and I hope you'll like what's to come. I _have _written the rest of this story, so no need to worry that I will just walk away from it for a little while again like I did after chapter 10. And there are three more _Greater_verse stories coming after this. I am not sure when I will write those, but a good rule of thumb is to keep an eye on my blog (which is now listed in my profile). If I am working on _Chuck _projects, it's best to check there. Anyway, thank you for still being here and reading these wacky hijinx of the strangest little spy family. Thank you to my beta reader, **mxpw**, who is one of the greatest persons on the planet, and to my awesome pre-readers. Thank you to everybody who asked about this story. I'm glad we get to finish it out together! And without any more ado, I present to you, chapter 11 of _That Which is Greater_...

* * *

**Riding in Cars with Villains**

* * *

_I think "SpongeBob" is born out of my love of Laurel and Hardy shorts. You've got that kind of idiot-buddy situation—that was a huge influence. SpongeBob was inspired by that kind of character: the Innocent—a la Stan Laurel. In deliberately trying to do a buddy show, there had been "Ren and Stimpy," which was so amazing. So I thought: "Where do we go after that?" It goes back to that kind of [innocent] character._

**– Stephen Hillenburg, Creator of ****_Spongebob Squarepants_**

* * *

After Sarah sent him a message that she wanted to talk, Chuck meant to get back to her. He really did. But those best laid plans withered when a bug in the program he was tweaking for one of his clients arose (he would go to his grave swearing he did not put that semicolon there), and there was an emergency database error to fix for a friend. By the time he even thought about replying to Sarah that he was free, Violet woke from her nap and she was in no mood to entertain herself. So really, it took three hours before he could send her an all-clear-come-over text.

She must have been waiting for the text, since she showed up almost right away. He had a moment of stupidity when he opened the front door—it just didn't seem possible that the woman could get any more attractive since he'd last seen her—but it passed quickly, for the most part.

She smiled at him, and Chuck forgot most of the English language. Thankfully, he had just enough social preservation skill to respond with one of the few words he did remember: "Hi."

"Hi." She rocked back on her heels, eyebrows going up. "Can I come in?"

"What? Oh, sure. Yeah, come in. Mi casa es—actually, your casa is right there, so that's probably dumb, but come on in. We're just chilling with Spongebob, aren't we?" For the last bit, he raised his voice a little.

From the living room came a squeak. Violet hurtled into the foyer, skidding on her socks. She stopped just short of crashing into the spy. "Miss Sarah! You're here! You came to the house! Are you here to watch Spongebob? Because Spongebob is on and he's the best, but I think I like Squidward more because he's grumpy, like, all the time. Aunt Ellie says it's 'cause opposites attract. So wanna watch?"

"Ah, maybe later, okay?" Sarah glanced at him uncertainly as Violet latched herself around Sarah's thigh and smiled up at her. "I need to talk to your father."

"Oh. 'Kay. But hurry, it's a good episode." Violet disengaged and headed back to the couch.

"Such is the lure of Sponegbob," Chuck said, listening for any telltale crashing sounds. Hearing none—which wasn't necessarily a good thing—he turned to Sarah. "We can talk in the kitchen. Unless you want the tour."

"I'm good," Sarah said.

"No Spongebob, no tour, this must be serious."

"It is," Sarah said.

"Oh, was all he said. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?"

"Tea would be nice, sure. If it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble at all." Chuck grabbed the nice kettle and set to filling it up. Had Zarnow found something? They'd only done the testing the night before, and that hardly seemed like enough time for definitive results unless there had been other sensors in the room, sensors he hadn't known about. It seemed a little far-fetched, but then again, he lived a couple of houses down from a CIA agent that was pretending to be his (way too hot for him) girlfriend, so stranger things had happened. So if there had been sensors, maybe they had found something wrong with him. The only news that could possibly come at this point was bad news. When it occurred to him what that bad news might be, Chuck's eyes widened, and he whirled. "Am I dying?"

"What?" Sarah gave him a baffled look.

"The Intersect, is it killing me? It's giving me tumors. Zarnow found them already, didn't he? I knew I had a headache for a reason this morning—"

"Where are you getting this?"

"Is my brain going to leak out of my eyeballs? Don't sugar-coat it. Just tell me. How long do I have to live?"

"Ew," Sarah said. "And no. You're not dying. Calm down."

"Oh." Embarrassment arrowed through him as he set the kettle on the range top. To cover up his gaffe, he grabbed a can of Coke and took a seat at the island next to her. "I can officially say that's a relief."

"That much is," Sarah said. She looked down at her hands, where she was fiddling with her thumb, worrying it between her fingers. "Casey and I got a call this morning. Somebody placed a bomb in Dr. Zarnow's car."

"W-what? Oh, my god. It didn't blow, did it? Wait, an actual bomb? Are you serious? Is he okay?"

"I don't think so, Chuck."

Chuck's throat dried up. Was a man he'd—actually, he couldn't say he'd met Zarnow, as he didn't even know what the guy looked like, but the man had spent several hours poking around in his brain the night before, so it was like meeting him, in a way—met hours before dead because of a bomb? An actual, ticking bomb? No, wait, did bombs tick anymore? They could be remotely triggered by cell phones, they didn't necessarily need timers—and oh, god, Zarnow was dead. By a bomb. Zarnow had been killed by a bomb.

"Are we in danger? Do they know where I live? Violet—" He cast a panicked look toward the living room. "If they took out Zarnow, they're could be after me and Violet next—or you and Casey—"

"They won't. You're safe." When Chuck opened his mouth to ask her if she was sure, she grabbed his arm. "Every car on this block is registered to somebody who lives here, we've done frequency checks, we've monitored all communications in the area. Nobody knows you're here."

"But even so. It can't be a coincidence that somebody blew the guy up who's supposed to be taking the giant tax-payers' headache of national security out of my head."

"Maybe. It could be completely unrelated. Zarnow's one of the top NSA scientists. You don't get that good without making a few enemies along the way."

"Do you think it's unrelated?"

There was absolutely no hesitation when Sarah looked at him and said, "Yes, I think it is."

A cold feeling trickled down the back of Chuck's neck. If it was unrelated, why attack Zarnow in Los Angeles? Why right after he met with an Intersect candidate and not before? And if they knew enough to follow Zarnow and blow him up, surely they'd want to tie up all loose ends, like Chuck, and Casey and Sarah. Years of watching bad science-fiction movies and TV shows meant Chuck knew that it never ended well for the loose ends.

Though fear bubbled up in the back of his throat, he nodded. "Okay," he said, gently extracting his arm from Sarah's grip before it could get awkward. Thankfully, the tea kettle started to whistle. He edged around the island and hoped she wouldn't notice that his hands weren't entirely steady as he poured the hot water.

She probably did, but he appreciated that she didn't say anything.

"So now what?" he asked. "You send the body back to Washington and we get a new Intersect scientist? Somebody to fix me?"

"We'd do that, but there's not much to send back. They used an NSA incinerator."

His vision went fuzzy, the only warning that a flash was coming. He blinked away afterimages of photographs of a buffalo, old cell phones, a burning truck, explosions, and circuit boards. Just like that, there was brand new information in his head that hadn't been available to him a second before. It might have been neat to think about if it weren't so damned creepy. "Oh, crap," he said.

"What?"

"I just flashed. That bomb is bad news. You're right—they're going to need a closed casket."

"Yeah." Silence fell while Sarah dunked a tea bag into the water, keeping her eyes fixed on the tendrils of color that stretched inside the mug. "I don't know what happens next. I'm sorry. They're regrouping at headquarters, and they've got agents investigating."

"But they will send another scientist?"

"I don't know."

"I want this thing out of my head, Sarah."

"I know that."

Chuck stared at the wall, listening to the sounds of _Spongebob Squarepants_. How on earth was he supposed to reconcile his life, the suburban dad, with the secrets of the government as a searchable database in his head?

"I'm stuck with it, aren't I?" he asked.

"We don't know that, Chuck."

"But if Intersect scientists are being blown up, that's not much incentive for them to send more into the line of fire."

"It could be unrelated," Sarah said again. "There's nothing we've seen that links Zarnow's death to the fact that he was specifically working on you. Keep that in mind."

"I appreciate the optimism."

"Anytime." Sarah put her hand on his arm again. It felt too warm and not all that comforting, but Chuck didn't ease away. For a second, he wanted to pretend that Sarah wasn't a CIA agent and that she was the incredibly attractive (especially when she smiled—god, it was almost unfair) woman that had moved in down the street and was dropping by for a cup of tea.

Sarah removed her hand, and the moment passed.

"So, now what?"

"Now I come over for dinner and meet your sister, and Casey and I investigate what we can about Zarnow. We may need your help."

Chuck took a sip of Coke. "With what?"

"We may need you to review something, to see if you flash. We don't have anything yet, but—stay available?"

"Sure, if I have time after work, yeah," Chuck said, and for a second, a look crossed Sarah's face that he didn't recognize. "Something the matter?"

"No, not at all." Sarah's eyes flicked to the white-board calendar that took up half of the kitchen wall. Schedules were scrawled in different colored markers—Violet's, obviously, was purple, Chuck's was red. Chuck would have been embarrassed about it, but it was just a way to keep three people co-parenting a very active child sane, so he stayed quiet while Sarah studied it. "You think…dinner, tomorrow? You all look like you're clear."

"I'll double-check, but—" Chuck hopped to his feet and grabbed the black marker, which they used for the group. He scrawled in the words "Dinner with Sarah" on the next day. "That good?"

"Just like that, huh?"

"We live by the calendar, we die by the calendar," Chuck said solemnly. "Ellie's excited to meet you. She denies spending all night pumping Violet for information about you, but between you and me, I think she's lying."

A look of alarm crossed Sarah's face. "What kind of information?"

"The kind a four-year-old can give you. The good news is, you're very pretty and your 'brother' likes Pop Tarts."

"Oh."

"I don't think my yet-to-start-real-school-child has picked up on the fact that you're a spy, so you're safe."

"Hm," Sarah said, and sipped her tea. "What time for dinner?"

"Seven?"

"Works for me. I'll give you a call if anything else comes up about Zarnow, okay? Just remember not to freak out."

"Doing my best," Chuck said. He wasn't sure if that was the truth, but given that he hadn't raced into the living room, grabbed Violet, and thrown her in the car to get the hell out of Dodge, he figured it was good enough. Sarah paused by the door to the living room, looking uncertain. "You can just head out. She'll be too distracted by a cartoon sponge to care that you left without saying good-bye."

"Thanks." With a grateful look, Sarah fled. Chuck stayed in the kitchen until his Coke had gone warm and flat, staring at the calendar.

* * *

_Remember not to freak out_ became appropriate advice three hours later when Chuck lifted the lid to place the bag of trash into the can and Casey popped out of his bushes. Chuck flailed, made a noise not commonly heard outside of Saturday morning cartoons and—and he was not proud of this—tried to hit an NSA operative with a bag of trash.

"Relax, moron," Casey said. "It's just me. Nice Kung Fu."

Chuck put a hand over his heart to stop it from galloping straight out of his chest. "Mock all you want, but a half-empty container of ice cream to the face hurts your pride more than mine."

"That girlish scream hurts my pride more than ice cream would, Bartowski."

Chuck glared and stuffed the bag into the bin. "Why are you lurking around my house, Casey?"

Casey glared right back. "You talked to Walker."

"Yes, when she talks to me, I talk back. It's how conversations work. So?"

"So there are two agents on this op, not just one. You don't talk to Walker without me."

Chuck put the lid back on the trashcan. "That's going to be fun to explain to people why I can't go anywhere with 'my girlfriend' without her brother there. People might suspect something about the three of us."

One of Casey's hands twitched, and Chuck had a terrifying vision of the other man strangling him. This was why he'd kept his interactions limited to Sarah, he thought. "Is this—is this about Zarnow?"

"Yes. Did Walker tell you I did it?"

Chuck's eyes went wide. Sarah had said that the bomb used was an NSA incinerator, but when he'd flashed on it later, it had seemed like a bomb that wasn't just limited to the NSA. Mossad and some other agencies used it, too. "Did you?" He grabbed the trash can lid, about to use it like a shield, though what that would do against a giant brute like Casey, he had no idea. And he doubted that anybody in the kitchen, where they were all waiting for dinner to start soon, would hear if Casey _did_ choose to attack him. He was on his own.

Casey scowled. "No."

"Sarah said it was a bomb in his car. Are you any closer to finding out who did it?"

"We don't have any leads, no." And the disgust on Casey's face over that fact was plain. "But you don't talk to Walker alone."

"Why?"

"Because I don't trust the CIA."

"Join the club." He didn't exactly trust the NSA either, Chuck thought, but mentioning that in front of Casey just didn't seem prudent. So he stuck his hands in his pockets. "You two need to really work out whatever it is you're going through. I have some conflict resolution mp3 files, if you think that would help…" He caught the look on Casey's face. "Or not. Just offering."

"You stick to your job, I'll stick to mine."

"Which is what?"

"Right now, keeping your scrawny neck from being blown up, and don't you forget it."

He had government agents hiding in his bushes. "How is it even possible for me to forget that?"

Casey's hands twitched again. Chuck decided that maybe the will update he'd worked on after talking to Sarah needed to have a clause in it about what to do if he was found strangled to death.

"You invited Walker to dinner," Casey said.

"To meet my sister. Ellie's been curious about her."

"You can invite me, too."

"Aw, Casey, are you feeling lonely?"

This time, Chuck had to physically duck. "Uncle!" he said, raising his hands in surrender. "Uncle! Sorry. Fine, you want in, you're invited. You're the new neighbor, after all. Geez, don't strangle me."

"It's tempting," Casey said.

"I'm getting that message, loud and clear. Dinner's at seven tomorrow."

Casey opened his mouth, probably to say something snarky and demeaning, but before he could say anything, there was a distinctly feminine shout from the direction of Casey and Sarah's house. With the instincts of the father of an accident-prone child, Chuck tore around the garage, long legs eating up the scrub of a yard between his house and the Martinson's place. What he saw there made him skid to a stop.

He didn't recognize the man in front of Sarah and Casey's house. But he did recognize Sarah, who was obviously unconscious if the way her head lolled back was any indication. For a second, he could do nothing but gape as the man set Sarah in the truck.

"Holy crap," Chuck said. That kind of thing only happened in terrible Bond movies. He surged forward. "Hey! What are you doing? Stop that!"

The man turned. Chuck didn't recognize him, but the gun in his hand made both Chuck and Casey stop.

"Ah," the man said. "Major Casey. What a surprise."

He raised the gun—

"No!" Chuck shouted.

—and fired once. There was a noise like a TV gun silencer and Casey stumbled into Chuck. He had a brief moment of abject panic, a feeling of _knowing_ he was about to die, as Casey grabbed him in some sort of drunken bear hug. They tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

"Casey!" Chuck said, scrambling and trying to get out from under the very heavy agent. "Casey, are you okay?"

The man sneered and climbed into the driver's seat of the car. "No!" Chuck said, trying to get out from under Casey, who was thankfully, sluggishly starting to move. "Sarah! No—"

The car took off with squealing tires. _The license plate_, Chuck's mind whispered. He could only pray his brain didn't fail him as he worked in vain to memorize the numbers. Casey finally grunted and rolled off of Chuck.

Chuck immediately stumbled to his feet. "He's getting away!"

"Give me a sec."

"Casey, he's got Sarah and he's getting away—"

"Yeah, I got that."

"Casey!"

The NSA agent grunted once more and reached up, yanking out a small red dart from his shoulder. He tossed it aside. "Tranqued me. Son of a bitch."

Abruptly, his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the ground.

"Casey!" Chuck said. He reached for Casey—to do what, he didn't know, maybe slap him or something—but Casey's eyes opened. Chuck yanked his hands back. "Casey, oh, god, are you okay?"

"Doesn't matter. Get me to my car," Casey said, stumbling. Chuck wedged a shoulder under his armpit to haul him up. He really needed to spend some time in the gym, apparently, because it took nearly twenty seconds of pushing before Casey was on his feet. "He'll have to follow traffic laws if he doesn't want to seem suspicious—we can catch up with him. Move, Bartowski."

"You can't possibly expect to drive like this," Chuck said, though they were already half-stumbling, half-running for the Crown Victoria in the driveway. Any snide comments he might have made about such a beast of a car were drowned out by the fact that Sarah had been shoved into a car by some random stranger in a dark trench coat. Oh, god.

"Nope." Keys were shoved into his hand. "You're driving."

"I can't leave Violet without—"

"He's getting away with your fake girlfriend, moron. Get in the car."

Chuck fumbled with the ignition because his hands were shaking, but the car roared to life soon enough. He nearly stomped on the gas before he spotted the emergency brake. Ignoring Casey's "Drive, drive, drive!" he pushed hard on the gas and tore down his street much faster than he ever had before.

The Homeowner's Association was going to have a few words with him if they found out about this.

"What are we going to do when we catch him?" Chuck asked, tapping the brakes out of courtesy to the stop sign.

There was no answer.

"Casey?" He looked over to see the NSA agent slumped against the door, head tilted back at a comical angle. "Casey!"

Casey jerked back to life. "What! What?"

"What do we do when we catch up with—that guy?"

"Zarnow," Casey said, and pulled out a gun.

"Wait, that was Zarnow? I thought Zarnow was dead." Chuck took a corner so fast that he swore the Crown Vic went up on two wheels. It made Casey sway. "You and Sarah told me he'd been blown up."

"Well, it looks we were wrong. Happy? Turn left."

"Do you know where he's going?"

"No, but it's a better bet. And when we reach him, we'll pull out some vehicular maneuvers and I'll shoot the son of a bitch. Simple enough for you?" Casey punctuated this by tilting forward, asleep again.

"Crap," Chuck said. Was he really chasing down a bad guy who'd kidnapped his cover girlfriend? He was a computer programmer, for god's sake, not a spy. Chuck reached over blindly, grabbed a handful of Casey's shirt, and tugged. Nothing happened. Great. So now he was a computer programmer chasing down a bad guy with a tranquilized government agent.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

_Call the police, you idiot,_ his brain chimed in.

Hoping that he would still have a hand when all of this was over, Chuck jabbed at Casey until the other man snorted awake. "Give me your phone," he said. Relief spread like a wildfire when he spotted the taillights of Dr. Zarnow's car ahead. "Casey, your phone. Give it to me!"

Casey looked at him, blearily. Chuck could see him fighting off the effects of the tranquilizer, but it was obviously a war. Casey's movements as he reached into his pocket were studied, like a drunk trying to recite the alphabet backwards. "Don't you have your own phone, Bartowski?"

"I do, yeah." Chuck proved it by taking Casey's phone and dropping his own into the man's palm.

"What the hell do you want me to do with this?"

"Text Morgan, ask him to cover for me. Tell him I ran into Sarah and she—I don't know, she needed her phone fixed or something."

"What for?"

"Just do it, will you?" It went against everything in his cautious nature to dial Casey's phone and drive at the same time, but Chuck entered three numbers and hit send.

"Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?"

"I need the police. I just saw a man shove a lady into the trunk of his car—"

Casey's eyes bulged. "What are you doing!"

"And he drove off, but I'm following him in his car. Help!"

The woman on the other end of the line didn't sound surprised. "Sir, where are you?"

Chuck didn't have to fake any panic as he listed off the details: where they were, Zarnow's license plate, and the make and model of his car, a description of both Zarnow and Sarah. Casey spent the entire time seething, making a noise under his breath that Chuck was positive only dogs could hear.

"Look, it's not like you're in any position to provide much help since you keep falling asleep on me!" Chuck said, pushing the phone mouthpiece against his shoulder. He sped through an intersection, technically running a red light, to keep up with Zarnow. Was Sarah still unconscious? Had she woken up? Did she know she was in a trunk?

Where were the police already?

"When there goes back to being just one of you," Casey said, jabbing a finger and nearly stabbing Chuck in the ear with it, "I am going to kick your ass, Bartowski."

"Great, I look forward to it."

"Though I could take both of you."

"Mr. Bartowski?" the operator asked. "There's a patrol vehicle en route."

"How long?" Chuck asked.

The operator listed an address that was only four blocks away. It was still too far. What if Zarnow made him and tried, like, evasive maneuvers to get away? Chuck was a pretty good driver—a safe one, at any rate—but he definitely wasn't Indy Cup 500 material.

And if he lost Sarah, she was on her own, while unconscious, in a car trunk.

"Are you still with the vehicle?"

"Yes, he's ahead of me, I don't think he knows I'm following him," Chuck said, and Zarnow apparently chose that moment to prove him wrong. The other car sped up, and Chuck let out a yelp and a curse. "Crap! I think he just noticed."

"Sir, I have to advise you not to place yourself in any danger—"

Should have told that to Bryce Larkin before he sent me the Intersect, Chuck thought.

"—and to wait for the police to handle this matter."

Chuck was about to snap back a retort that the police weren't there yet, but then he heard the blessed, glorious sound of sirens. _Multiple_ sirens. "Oh, thank god," he said. "I hear them. I can hear the cops."

Zarnow sped up, making Chuck yelp. He nearly stomped the gas, but instead hit the brakes to avoid smashing into the rear end of Zarnow's car (and Sarah) when a police cruise skidded across the lane. For one panicked, eternal split second that would be forever etched into his brain, Chuck careened into oncoming traffic.

Casey reached out and yanked the wheel. They rolled to a stop as police officers approached Zarnow's car with their guns out. Before Casey could spring out of the Crown Vic, though, Chuck grabbed two handfuls of his shirt and held on for dear life. "Casey, don't, they could shoot you. They think you're a civilian."

"What did you just call me?"

"I didn't say you were an actual civilian, just that there are a lot of cops who might not suspect that the man with a gun who is also swaying like a wino on a two-day bender is actually an employee of the National Security Administration."

In front of them, the cops had surrounded Zarnow's car and were pulling the man out, pushing him up against his car so they could pat him down. Onlookers gawked as a policewoman circled around to the trunk, pulling it open.

Chuck craned his neck, but he couldn't see Sarah. And then he yelped for the fourth time when Casey put a hand on the back of his neck and shoved downward. "Stay out of sight," Casey said. "I don't want them to get a good look at you."

Chuck squinted through the gap in the steering wheel instead as Zarnow turned. The flash hit only a second later. Information assaulted his brain: pictures of test tubes and scientists, of Kim Jong Il and security administration meetings, interposed over files that had obviously been lifted straight out of Dr. Max Zarnow's desk. Chuck blinked, shaking his head to try and ease the concept of there being information in his brain that hadn't been there an instant before.

"He's dirty," he said. "Zarnow. He's—he's selling secrets to the North Koreans."

Casey twisted to look at him. "You sure?"

"It's in the Intersect in full Technicolor detail, Casey. That must be why he wanted to kidnap Sarah. He wanted the Intersect—he wanted me—before I could see him and give him away."

"Well, too late for that. Stay in the car, I'm going to go make friends." Casey reached into the glove box and pulled out a wallet, which probably contained his NSA badge. Before he climbed out, though, he paused and sighed. "I may flag you down. If I do, it means you come get Walker and you go straight home. Keep your head down."

"Yes, sir," Chuck said, giving him a little salute.

"Don't ever do that again."

"Yes, s—okay."

"Give me my phone back." Casey snatched the phone from Chuck's hand and Chuck realized that he'd never hung up. He hoped the operator hadn't heard all of that. If she had, the Intersect was going to be the worst-kept secret ever.

Casey staggered a little as he climbed out of the car, but all in all, he seemed to be shaking off the effects of the tranquilizer dart. He strode up to the nearest cop and flashed his badge, which made the cop frown. Chuck squinted, trying to read lips or understand gestures or something, but he had nothing. The way the cop regarded Casey made Chuck remind himself that the NSA likely had an entire protocol in place for damage control in the event of people getting mouthy with Major John Casey. Luckily, Casey's gun stayed holstered.

A flurry of activity followed as Zarnow was shoved into the back of a patrol car. Casey leaned in and said something through the open window that had one of the cops putting a hand on her gun.

"Don't do it, Casey, don't do it," Chuck said under his breath, squirming in his seat because he really didn't want to watch Casey fight with a bunch of local cops that had just saved Sarah.

An unmarked police car pulled up as the car containing Zarnow drove away. This time, the cop that stepped out was wearing a suit. Chuck figured he had to be a detective at he very least, but either way, he was obviously in charge. He strode up to Casey, but Chuck didn't get to see what happened next.

Sarah sat up in the trunk, and Chuck was out of his car like a shot.

* * *

**A/N the Second:** Since I don't normally answer reviews (but am grateful for every single one), I'll quickly answer some questions: no, I'm not going to write a sequel to _Fates_ (though I'm flattered you want one, of course). If you want to know about _Curtain Call, _please direct those questions straight to **mxpw**. As for other projects, provided they're not a birthday surprise like this one, I'll happily either offer snippets on my various social media platforms (Twitter, Tumblr, my blog, LJ), or I will talk about them beforehand, meaning besides my beta, pre-readers, and myself, you will be the first to know, so there is no need to ask me for those, either. Thank you for your courtesy—it means a lot to me!

See you Wednesday (was gonna post on Thursday, but **quistie64 **is the God of Thunder and Thursdays are hers).


	12. Meet the Family

**A/N the First: **I have to get something very important out of the way first: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM!

Okay, now that that's done, on to the important stuff, like thanking you for still being here (a long hiatus and then three lightning quick updates, clearly I believe in whiplash!), my beta for being awesome and catching my accidental double-entendres (thanks, **mxpw**, who has very much done stuff since _Double_ Agent, by the way, like betaing this chapter and, oh, I don't know, _all _of _What Fates Impose_ and various other stories I've written and winning three consecutive Awesome Awards for betaing because that's just how great he is; seriously, don't nag at him in my reviews, I WILL COME AT YOU BRO because he's a fantastic person and reviews for _Greater _are not the place to whine about _Double Agent _(seriously, they have Twitter, and Tumblr, and PMs for that)), my pre-readers for their wonderful encouragement (hi, **lucky **and **Karen** and **quistie**!), and my mom for having birthdays and thus ensuring I can exist to bring you this chapter.

Mom, you're the best. And I'm not just saying that because thanks to your garage saleing last week, I have a box of Brownie Hawkeye cameras that I don't know what to do with sitting on my dresser. THE BEST.

* * *

**Meet the Family**

* * *

_The beginning of a relationship is only about two people. However, as a relationship progresses, it starts becoming more about enmeshing both people's lives. That includes introducing the significant other to the members of your family when the time is right. – __**eHow, How to Know When to Have a Significant Other Meet the Family**_

* * *

"Sarah!" Chuck crossed twenty feet of concrete in a second. When the cop stepped into his path, he skidded to a halt, though instinct made him want to dodge and keep running.

The cop held up a hand. "Sir, you need to stay back, this is a crime scene—"

"That's my—that's my girlfriend," Chuck said. A couple of cops started to approach Sarah, but suddenly Casey was there between them and his partner, arms crossed over his chest. He nodded at Chuck, and reluctant now, the cop waved Chuck by.

Chuck hurried to the trunk, where Sarah was shoving her hair out of her face and looking around with glassy eyes. He could feel the heat of the cops' glares on his back. "Are you okay?"

"Where am I? What's going on?"

"Zarnow shoved you in a trunk, Casey followed, and I called the cops," Chuck said. "They've probably got, like, EMTs coming or something. Are you all right? How does your head feel?"

"I'm fine." Though there was alarm in her eyes as she took in the scene around them. "Where are we?"

"I'm not entirely sure, actually."

"Where's Violet?"

Chuck rocked back on his heels, surprised she'd asked. "Uh—she's at the house, with Morgan. I texted for him to cover for me. Zarnow's a bad guy, Sarah."

She grimaced. "Got that, thanks."

Before Chuck could explain, Casey came over, thankfully without any cops in tow. "I called the bosses: they're covering this up."

"Yeah, the cops are gonna love that," Chuck said, looking at the officers standing in front of the car. Three of the four of them were glaring at Casey—which, Chuck decided, wasn't his problem.

"Not our problem. I'm not on this planet to make nice." Casey's glower cut off automatic _Gee, really_ that rose to the tip of Chuck's tongue. "The two of you should get out of here before some hooligan with a cell phone gets a good picture and we're all on the nine o'clock news."

He had a point, so Chuck offered a hand to help Sarah climb out of the trunk. She ignored it and hauled herself free. "Are you coming with us?"

"No." Casey's scowl deepened to terrifying levels. "And if you leave a single scratch on my car, Bartowski, I will stuff an apple in your mouth and mount your head on my wall."

"Cheerful," Chuck said. Casey offered nothing in reply but a grunt, so Chuck followed Sarah back to Casey's car and slid into the driver's seat. His hands shook a little as he placed them on the steering wheel. He put the car in gear and pulled around what was now being considered a crime scene.

Sarah grabbed the dashboard, her head bobbing forward a little. "Do you, ah, need anything?" Chuck asked.

"I'll be fine." Sarah massaged her forehead with one hand. "Guess that means we don't have to look for whoever put the bomb in Zarnow's car."

"Guess not." Chuck wanted to ask if this was normal in her world, if scientists regularly faked their deaths and tried to kidnap people. "He was selling secrets to the North Koreans, so the explosion was maybe connected? To the Intersect project, I mean. Like, he wanted to—"

"Torture the identity of the Intersect out of me? Yeah, that's becoming clear."

"Torture?" Chuck was not at all proud of the fact that his voice squeaked a little on the word.

Sarah turned her head a little to give him a side-eye. "You do realize he stuffed me in a car trunk. That doesn't tend to lead to good things, Chuck."

"Oh," Chuck said.

"I don't want to think about it." Sarah slouched back against the chair and shut her eyes. Chuck opened his mouth and shut it again when nothing came to mind that he could talk to her about other than the fact that he'd had to call the police to save her from being kidnapped by an evil scientist. The drive passed in silence until he pulled Casey's car into the driveway slowly enough to make a turtle nod in satisfaction.

"I know you don't want to talk about it, but I have to ask: are you really okay?" he asked.

"Thanks to you and Casey, I am." Sarah let out a long breath, but neither of them moved to climb out of the car. Maybe if they left the car, life would impose again. "He got the drop on me. Not many people can do that, and it won't happen again."

"That's good."

"Whose idea was it to involve the police?"

"Mine. Being lanky of frame and stern of constitution doesn't mean I can actually face down gun-toting bad guys by myself, even if those guns are filled with tranquilizer darts." Chuck ran both hands over his hair and left them there to rest. "And it would be hypocritical if I kept teaching my daughter that the first thing you should do is call nine-one-one and then I don't do that myself. And speaking of Vi, I am going to be in so much trouble."

"What for?" she asked.

"Because I've been taking out the trash for twenty minutes and I vanished. Ellie's going to be pissed." Well, no, Chuck thought. Ellie wouldn't be angry with him. She'd be baffled and, even worse, disappointed. He wasn't the type to take out the trash and just up and disappear.

Definite alarm crossed Sarah's face. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Sure," Chuck said, though he was more focused on the fact that there was no way he was ever going to be able to explain this to his sister without coming across like a total ass. This was why he wanted to tell her about the Intersect. Of course, if she knew about the Intersect and that he did things like chase down bad guys in a near-stranger's car, she would spend a lot of time hyperventilating, and that wasn't good, either. Maybe it was better to keep it to himself. He lowered his hands from his head and ran them over his face. "Sure, yeah, come over. She'll be so overjoyed that the person I'm dating isn't a figment of Vi's imagination that she'll forget she was ever mad at me."

Sarah pushed the car door open. "Okay," she said, and climbed out of the car.

Belatedly, Chuck's mind decided to inform the rest of him as to what exactly he'd just said. He probably broke Casey's _Don't scratch my car_ rule, climbing out of it as fast as he did now. "Whoa, Sarah, I was just. Or—or not, but I definitely didn't—you don't have to. Seriously. I don't want to offer you up to my sister like a sacrificial lamb just to avoid her wrath. It's okay."

Sarah studied him over the top of the Crown Vic for a long moment. She was getting some color back in her cheeks, which was a relief, but her eyes still looked a little glassy. "Chuck, you saved my life tonight."

"Excuse me, that was the work of L.A.'s finest."

"And your quick thinking." Sarah's eyes met his. God, they were so blue. "So if there's something I can do to help you keep the peace with your sister, it's worth it."

Because warmth swelled through his chest at her sincerity, Chuck looked down and scuffed the toe of one shoe against the asphalt. Say _something_, his brain urged, though frankly, he was coming up empty. Tongue-tied. A glance at his watch saved him from looking like a complete idiot. "Dinner's in five minutes," he said. Ellie insisted on having dinner on the table at a certain time so that Violet could have a regular schedule. "You like Italian, right?"

"Love it," Sarah said.

"Good. Because tonight's linguine night."

"Let me go inside and grab a bottle of wine or something so that I'm not showing up empty-handed."

Chuck nearly brought up the fact that Sarah existing was enough to make Ellie happy, but he decided that mentioning that again would make him sound a little creepy. "Great. That's great. Uh, she likes Cabernet."

"Perfect, wait here."

* * *

Sarah closed the front door of her house and melted against it, every joint in her body turning to gelatin. It was partially the last effects of the tranquilizer in her system—she'd worked up a tolerance since the Farm, but clearly not enough of one—but mostly, she recognized sheer relief that things hadn't entirely gone to pot. Waking surrounded by cops had brought back feelings of being Jenny Burton again, seeing her father loaded into the back of an ATF unmarked car. She gave herself thirty seconds to simply lean against the door, out of Chuck's sight.

After thirty seconds, she went into the kitchen and dug in the wine cabinet that the CIA had stocked, pulling out what she judged was the best Cabernet. Her phone buzzed with a text from Graham, who was thankfully in a meeting and wouldn't need a debrief until later. On the way between the wine cabinet and the door, she debated if she should run upstairs and change.

Better not. Chuck was still waiting outside.

She touched up her makeup with the emergency kit she'd stored in the downstairs bathroom (Casey had sneered; Sarah had bruised two of his ribs on the training mat in reply), fixing her hair. Three minutes after she'd gone inside, she hurried back out with the bottle of wine.

The glow from Chuck's phone illuminated his face as he thumbed over the screen. "According to the text I made Casey send Morgan, I was helping you fix…your oven. Huh."

"The timer acts up sometimes," Sarah said. "I needed an electronics expert."

"That works," Chuck said, and looked up. He didn't say anything, but for a second, a stunned look crossed his face. Sarah simply waited and sure enough, he straightened. "Ready for Bedlam?"

"It can't be that bad."

Chuck gave her a mock-pitying look. "You poor innocent."

"Oh, stop." She gave him a tiny shove on the shoulder. It made him smile as they turned and started walking toward his house. "I'm more worried that I'm dropping in on a family dinner unannounced. Don't these things require warning so there's enough food?"

"Ellie always makes more than enough. She only has to say the word 'linguine' aloud Morgan will hear from eight miles away and come running."

"Uh-huh, so Morgan's there," Sarah said. Best friend, mentioned by Violet as Uncle Morgan and in several of Chuck's stories. She had a background report on him still open on her desk upstairs.

"Yeah, and no need to worry about winning him over—he's still afraid of girls."

"That's…"

"Special is the word we use. And if you whip out some kind of love for extreme heli-kayaking or paragliding polo or whatever, you'll have Devon eating out of the palm of your hand." Chuck stuck his hands in his pockets, his Adam's apple working at double-time. "Vi, you also don't have to worry about, she worships the ground you walk on."

"And Ellie?" Sarah asked.

"You could mention how great you think I am, that tends to win her over pretty well." Chuck gave her the same shove she'd given him. "Just, you know, be yourself. They'll like you. Wait, are you nervous?"

"I've never done a family dinner before," Sarah said.

"Huh. You have no reaction to waking up in a car trunk—beyond 'where am I?', which is understandable—and you're nervous about meeting my sister," Chuck said. "Takes all kinds."

"Yes. Well, spy." And if the Intersect Project was going to be permanent, Sarah needed to get along with Ellie and the other assorted members of Chuck's family. There was also the fact that to most people, it could be considered a little early in the relationship to be meeting family—though moving in three houses away probably disqualified her for that.

"Last chance to escape," Chuck said as they headed up the front walk together.

Sarah looked toward her temporary house. Its safe embrace seemed miles away. "Now who's nervous?" she asked Chuck, and he laughed a little as he pushed open the door.

"Hello?" he called.

There was a gasp from somewhere in the direction of the kitchen. Violet bulleted around the corner, dropping to her knees and sliding the rest of the way across the hardwood so that she crashed into Chuck's shin—which she wasted no time wrapping herself around. "You're back!"

"I wasn't gone that long," Chuck said.

"It was _ages_ and ages and—Miss Sarah! What are you doing here?"

"Hey," Chuck said, scooping his daughter up from the floor. "What kind of manners are those, huh?"

"Are you here for dinner? Because we're about to eat dinner, and Aunt Ellie made lots. Were you with Daddy when he disappeared?"

"Who said I disappeared?" Chuck asked before Sarah could confirm or deny.

"Uncle Morgan," Violet said, evidently seeing no problem with throwing one of her favorite uncles to the wolves. "He got a text that said you were fixing Sarah's oven, and he said, 'I'll just _bet_ he's fixing Sarah's oven' and Aunt Ellie slapped him on the back of the head, but Uncle Awesome gave him a high five."

Sarah was going to have fun murdering Casey later. "Maybe I should go—"

"Aw, why?" Violet said.

Sarah had absolutely no desire to face Chuck's family if they thought he had sneaked away for a quickie. "Uh…"

"It'll be fine." Chuck set Violet down on the ground. "Did you wash your hands?"

"Yup!" Violet held them up and giggled when Chuck grabbed her right hand and sniffed it. "It smells like lavender 'cause Aunt Ellie let me wash them at the sink instead of making me use the pink soap." Without any prompting, she turned and raced off. "Aunt Ellie! Aunt Ellie! Daddy's back and he brought Miss Sarah and she says she's going to stay for dinner."

"The good thing about living with Megabyte is that you never have to deliver news in person anymore." Chuck gave her a grin that was halfway to a chuckle. "Need anything? Blindfold? Cigarette?"

"Casey and a gun to shoot him with," Sarah said. "Fixing my _oven_?"

"It's nice that even tweaked out on tranquilizers, he can make my life difficult," Chuck said. He pushed back his shoulders before he marched forward. Sarah followed him, and there they were, Chuck's family, gathered in the kitchen. She'd seen them all through the lenses of binoculars, but surveillance had done nothing to tell her how devastatingly attractive all of them were, even Chuck's short friend. Ellie Bartowski was at the stove with a dripping spoon in hand, and from the way Morgan was wiping one hand clean with a napkin, said spoon had been used for more than stirring sauce. Devon leaned against the kitchen island with a glass of wine in one hand.

"Hey, El, I hope you don't mind—Sarah's been having some issues with her new kitchen. The spark module for the oven had some gunk on it, and it's pretty much toast, so I invited her over for dinner."

"Oh, it's fine," Ellie said, and Sarah didn't need to be a spy to recognize that she was being thoroughly analyzed. Ellie set the spoon down on a little hula dancer spoon holder and held out a hand. "I'm Ellie, Chuck's much superior sister."

"Sarah," Sarah said. "It's very nice to meet you. It isn't much, but I brought this." She held out the wine.

Ellie's eyes lit up. "We'll definitely have to crack this open tonight. You have great taste."

"Thanks."

"And I'm being rude. Since Chuck's not going to introduce you around, this is my boyfriend, Devon Woodcomb."

Sarah exchanged pleasantries with Devon, who declared it was "Awesome" to meet her.

"You've obviously met Violet, and the one trying to sneak an early taste of dinner is Morgan Grimes."

Morgan managed to look both abashed and smug as he bent over Sarah's hand like a courtier. "A sincere pleasure, my lady."

"Er, uh, thank you," Sarah said, while Ellie glared at Morgan.

Violet, who had hauled herself onto one of the kitchen stools and was leaning over to what seemed a perilous degree to Sarah (though nobody else seemed perturbed), groaned. "Are we ever gonna eat? I haven't eaten in so long. My stomach is _empty_."

"As you can see, we prefer to starve the prisoners at _chez_ Bartowski," Chuck said, crossing to a cabinet and pulling out a plate that matched those already on the table. Within a couple of minutes, Sarah was seated at the table with a heaping plateful of linguine and red sauce in front of her. The wine could be considered a bad idea with the edge of grogginess in her system from the tranquilizers, but she hadn't wanted to turn Ellie down. Hopefully the pasta would soak it up.

Across the table, Violet made growling noises at her father as Chuck cut up her food into child-size bites.

"So, Sarah," Ellie said, and Sarah was once again reminded of Chuck mentioning Ellie's matriarchal hold over the Bartowskis. "How are you liking L.A. so far? You moved here for work?"

She had no idea what Chuck had told his family about her cover. Or how much Chuck knew about it, come to think of it. "Opportunity, mostly," she said. "My brother got stationed here, and the restaurants are excellent. I mean, not that D.C. had terrible restaurants or anything—far from it, actually—but, you know, you need a change of pace sometimes. Keep things fresh."

"Restaurants? Whoa, I thought the Chuckster here mentioned you were a veterinary assistant."

"That was part of the change of pace. Now I'm a restaurant critic. I have a blog and everything."

Violet's head shot up, but it was Morgan whose jaw dropped open. "Wait, you make your living talking about food?"

Sarah tensed, though she wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was the disbelieving look on Morgan's face, or the many covers over the years that had been blown by one detail out of place. Certainly, Chuck's family didn't look like a bunch of terrorists or drug lords, but you could never be certain. "Yes?" she said.

Morgan abruptly stood up. Sarah's hand tightened on the knife, but the bearded man only dropped to his knees and proceeded to bow. "You are a goddess. A _goddess_. No, not a goddess, a Samurai. Sarah-Dono. You get paid to _eat_. That's like the Holy Grail of jobs."

"What's a Holy Grail?" Violet asked Chuck.

"A movie we'll enjoy together when you're older."

"Technically, it should be Walker-Dono," Sarah told Morgan before she remembered that she was supposed to be a food blogger and not somebody who had studied eastern culture extensively. Only Morgan goggled, though.

"Please get off the floor," Ellie said through her smile. "We have company and we want to make a good impression. For five minutes. For at least five minutes, we are trying to make a good impression."

"What's a good impression?" Violet asked, this time looking at Sarah. "Is it like an arts and crafts project?"

"No, it's like your Uncle Morgan not bowing on the floor and slobbering all over our guest," Ellie told her niece, though she wrinkled her nose at the end of her pointed statement, and it sent Violet into a fit of giggles. "Though I must say, if I'd known I was cooking for a food blogger, I'd have made something more special than just my red sauce."

"Babe, your red sauce is, and I say this truthfully—"

"Awesome," Chuck, Violet, and Morgan all said with Devon. The latter grinned and reached across the table for a high-five from his honorary niece, though Ellie rolled her eyes at all of them.

"You don't have a thing to worry about," Sarah said. "This is hands down some of the best red sauce I've ever had. And I did a semester in Italy, so I can speak with some confidence on the subject."

Okay, granted, it hadn't been an entire semester. She had been there to discreetly assassinate an ambassador who had been leaking CIA secrets to China, but it was close enough.

Ellie grinned. "Chuck," she said, gesturing with her wineglass, "you should keep this one."

Sarah raised her eyebrows at Chuck. "Are you in the habit of collecting girlfriends and tossing them back?"

"Like fish?" Violet asked, and the adults all started laughing, Sarah among them. Violet gave them a perplexed look. "Daddy doesn't have girlfriends. He just has video games."

"I'd protest," Chuck said, twirling noodles around his fork, "but alas, it's true. Thanks for outing me yet again, though, Megs."

Violet's little forehead scrunched up. "But you're _good_ at video games, Daddy."

"Someday we will explain why that isn't appealing to women," Ellie said, though she was looking at Morgan and Chuck as she said it.

Morgan shrugged. "I don't see why not. Gamers are scientifically and statistically proven to be good with their hands."

"Why is it a bad thing to be good at video games?" Violet looked genuinely concerned. In an instant, that gaze was pinned on Sarah, making the spy feel an incredible sense of guilt. "Do you not like video games, Miss Sarah?"

The guilt tripled. Across the table, Chuck put his hand over his mouth, though he couldn't fully hide the obvious desire to laugh. "I, ah, haven't had much time to play them," Sarah said. "But I'm sure I'd like them if I tried."

"Nice save," Chuck said under his breath.

Violet's eyes went wide. "You've never played video games? What have you been doing?"

"Being an adult," Ellie said, coming to Sarah's rescue.

"But Daddy's an adult."

"That remains to be seen."

Chuck stuck his tongue out at his sister. "I'm proud of my _SkyRand_ score and nothing you say will convince me that being a Level 87 bloodmage isn't cool."

Ellie sighed at him, and Devon changed the subject to the awesome lifesaving surgery he had performed that day. There was still teasing, with Violet asking questions constantly. Sometimes one of the adults—Sarah noticed they took turns—would answer seriously, and other times they would deliver a joking reply that usually involved explaining when Violet was older. The child didn't seem perturbed by either option. Sarah, of course, had no idea if that was normal behavior for somebody Violet's age or not, given that Violet was the first person she'd really met under the age of ten.

The plates were mostly empty when her phone buzzed. "I'm so sorry," Sarah said. "I need to take this. Do you mind horribly if I…?"

There was a chorus of "Not at all" and "Take your time," that reminded Sarah she was eating dinner with two doctors, a mid-level manager, and a freelancer. Nobody seemed offended when she stepped out onto the back porch through the sliding door, though she imagined that the second she was out of earshot, she became the subject of conversation.

She took a deep breath and lifted the phone to her ear. "Yes, sir?"

"Is the line secure?"

Sarah checked to make sure the door was actually shut, and stepped away for good measure. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Langston Graham paused for a second, and Sarah had to assume he was checking to make sure that the line was secure on his end as well. "Report."

Years of giving briefings professionally enabled her to hide her embarrassment as she listed everything that had happened that evening. She kept her body language relaxed in case anybody peeked outside, but really, she'd rather be standing at attention. She had screwed up by not seeing Zarnow in time, and by now, she had to figure Graham knew it.

He didn't say anything, though. "And where are you now? Major Casey reported that he sent you and the Intersect away from the crime scene."

"With Chu—Mr. Bartowski's family, sir, for dinner. As damage control, considering that we pulled the Asset away without any explanation to his family."

"Good, you'll need that."

Something cold brushed against the back of Sarah's spine. "Sir?" she asked.

"I'm afraid I have bad news."

They were going to put Chuck in a bunker, Sarah thought. Her first instinct—to run inside and tell Chuck to go, to grab Violet and his family and flee—surprised her with its sheer intensity. Her first thought had never been traitorous before.

She managed to swallow and keep herself composed. "What is it?"

"The NSA and the CIA both believe it within our best interests not to expose knowledge of the Intersect to anybody else." Graham paused, the silence laden with meaning. "That includes any scientists that might be able to remove the Intersect from Mr. Bartowski's head."

"I see," Sarah said. She pinched the bridge of her nose. Chuck had looked so _hopeful_ when she had brought up the idea of Zarnow removing the Intersect.

"However, we simply cannot let a resource as valuable as the Intersect go to waste. So congratulations are in order, Agent Walker. You got what you wanted. We'll be using Mr. Bartowski in the capacity of an asset for the foreseeable future, possibly on a permanent basis. Luckily, your quick thinking with purchasing the house provides us an established base. Good work on that one."

"Thank you, sir," Sarah said. She kept her voice neutral out of habit, but it felt like a hole had opened in her chest, hollowing everything out. A permanent basis. Chuck rebelled at even the thought of having the Intersect in his head, endangering his life and his family, and there was a chance Graham and Beckman were going to make it permanent.

"This is classified Level Six. We've raised your clearance level. You'll be working with Major Casey, as it's a joint operation."

Congratulations, Walker. You get a clearance level raise and a grumpy NSA agent of your own, and Chuck gets his life ruined.

"I understand."

"Given that you already have a cover in place as the Asset's girlfriend, your primary job will be to keep up appearances and to protect the Asset in public. You and Major Casey will share operational duties. Hopefully you will be able to cooperate far better than you did before the Millennium Hotel."

Sarah nearly raised her eyebrows. So Casey hadn't mentioned the three or four fights they'd had over various things in the house in the meantime. Interesting. She had expected him to be the sort to tattle to the bosses. "I'm sure we can work it out," she said.

"Good. Please let the Asset know as soon as possible about the change in status, and report to me with any problems. You'll receive your new orders shortly."

"Thank you, sir," Sarah said, and hung up. She knew she had been outside long enough, that it was probably rude to stay out any longer, but again, she gave herself a minute to stand and process.

They weren't sending another scientist. One futile attempt to remove the Intersect, and the agencies had given up the ghost and declared the Intersect stuck in Chuck's head. A single, half-hearted attempt, at that. It was almost as though they were gleeful to have an Intersect test subject, never mind that he hadn't signed up for the part. Sarah knew that the government wasn't above turning and burning assets when they needed to—she'd witnessed it for herself a few times, and it hurt to be the agent who had to deliver that blow.

And, Sarah realized, it wasn't just Chuck's life in the balance here. Hadn't she shoved Violet's drawing into a drawer just that morning, not wanting any attachment? No matter her conflicted feelings, there had been a sliver of her, the part that got itchy feet when in one place too long, that had been looking forward to moving on, to getting the next assignment. That had always been what she and Bryce talked about, no matter where they were: the next assignment, the next gold ring to chase.

There wasn't going to be a next assignment, not for a long time.

Just like there wasn't a Bryce anymore.

Sarah rubbed her face with one hand. With an iron will that she had developed long before the Farm, she shoved all of the complicated, messy feelings back inside of her, locking them away. She'd get through the rest of dinner, she'd tell Chuck about the status change, and they would simply have to deal with it. But it wasn't going to be fun.

She put her company smile back on and stepped in through the sliding glass. To her surprise, though, the table was empty of everything but a few dishes. Devon ran dishes under the faucet while Ellie sat on the kitchen island countertop with a glass of wine in her hand. Chuck, Violet, and Morgan were nowhere to be seen.

"Whoops," Sarah said when they turned. "I didn't realize I took that long—sorry."

"No, it wasn't long at all. We just have a pretty set bedtime in the house, and Morgan had to run. Some kind of work thing." Ellie waved a hand. "Both Devon and I have to work doubles tomorrow—"

"Not awesome, admittedly."

"—so we're actually about to head to bed ourselves. I hope you don't think we're rude."

"Not at all. I was the one who intruded on family dinner night. You could've literally thrown me off the front porch and I'd be okay with it. The linguine was just that good."

"Oh, I'm going to like you," Ellie said, grinning. Inwardly, Sarah's stomach sank, but she managed to return the grin.

"I really should go, though," she said. "I don't want to cause any trouble or keep anybody up or—"

"No trouble at all. Chuck's just getting Vi ready for bed, if you want to go on up."

Sarah nearly protested that she didn't need to do that, but orders were orders. She needed to talk to Chuck. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, Vi will be happier if you drop by to say good-bye." Ellie gestured in the direction of the hall that Sarah knew, thanks to studying the layout of Chuck's house, led to the stairs. "It was very nice meeting you. I hope you can come for dinner again, and maybe bring your brother."

Oh, Casey would hate that. "I'd love it," Sarah said. "And it was nice meeting the both of you, too. Uh, good night."

Determined not to feel awkward, she headed for the stairs. She'd been on the second floor before, of course, but it usually meant climbing in through Chuck's window. Walking through the house meant she learned new details: snapshots on the wall of various family moments at the beach and in the house, among the posed studio photos. Going up the stairs meant she essentially walked along a timeline of Ellie and Chuck's lives—going from gangly kids, to gangly teenagers, to gangly college students. There were pictures of Chuck holding baby Violet, who looked ridiculously tiny in some kind of orange and green onesie (Chuck was also in an orange and green suit and holding some kind of trident, so Sarah had to assume it was a costume), and toddler Violet, and even some kind of school picture.

At the top of the stairs, she moved into the hallway, following the direction of—hooting? It was Chuck's voice, and Violet's, but she had no idea what kind of sounds they were making. She could see Chuck's bedroom door at the end of the hallway, but the hooting was coming from an open door in the middle.

Warily, she pushed her way inside to see what she figured had to be Violet's bedroom, given that the walls were a shade of lilac that just didn't seem like Chuck. Said bedroom owner was standing on a bed, hands up under her armpits as she danced around, making noises.

Even more amusingly, Chuck stood in the middle of the room, his back to the door, doing exactly the same thing that his daughter was doing.

Violet noticed Sarah first. "Miss Sarah!" she said, and without warning at all, she launched herself into the air like a cannonball.

* * *

**A/N the Second: **OH NOES. IS SARAH GOING TO CATCH VIOLET? Tune in Monday to find out.


	13. Monkeying Around

**A/N the First: **Thanks to my awesome beta reader, who caught my three attempts to turn verbs into gerunds and laughed all the way through the chapter about Sarah's rather specific brand of cruelty. **mxpw**, you're swell. **quistie64, **you're a doll (yes, I watched _Guys and Dolls _this weekend, why do you ask?). **crystalelements**, I miss your face. **Wepdiggy**, you're a peach *wink*. **lucky47, **your personality is even sunnier than your hair, and I love that. **Karen**, where are those chapters I demanded (also, you're pretty great, too)? **Chris**, congrats on the soon-to-be-born baby (I hope she has your ears) and I am looking forward to pictures! **Crumby**, bonjour and [French for AWESOME]! **Joel**, have fun in Denmark and I'm still jealous. **Ayefah**, I don't even think you read this, but I still think you're nifty. **(Insert your name here****)**, how you doing? You look good! Are you doing something new with your hair? I like it.

With that out of the way, thanks to my pre-readers, everybody that's reviewed, left me tweets, reblogs, notes, PMs, emails, smoke signals, and telepathic thoughts that I will be sure to receive in forty years when we invent the technology. This is, by the way, the final chapter of the original _That Which is Greater_ story. There are others in the series, though, so while this is an ending, it is also a beginning...

* * *

**Monkeying Around**

* * *

_Howler monkeys are the loudest monkeys—their deep, howling calls can be heard almost 2 miles (3 kilometers) through the forest and more than 3 miles (5 kilometers) over open areas like lakes. The males call to announce their territory to other troops. – __**San Diego Zoo Blog**_

* * *

It wasn't even spy reflexes that saved Sarah. Instead, long-forgotten skills from a brief stint playing intramural softball at the Farm kicked in. Sarah snatched the girl from the air, set her down, and only then did the spy instincts show up. In an instant, Sarah had Violet behind her, putting herself between the child and any perceived danger before she realized fully what was going on.

She froze. Chuck did, too, with one hand still scratching at his armpit and the other rubbing his head, so he looked more ridiculous. It didn't help.

Violet, on the other hand, giggled and slithered right back around so that she was in front of Sarah. "That was _awesome_. You caught me just like that, and I went flying like 'whoooosh.'" She wrapped herself around Sarah's forearm all the way to the elbow. "We're playing monkeys. Did you come to play monkeys with us?"

Chuck turned an interesting shade of mauve and abruptly lowered his hands. "Violet…"

"I don't know how to play, uh, monkeys," Sarah said, though the rules looked pretty simple.

"It's super easy. Look, see, Daddy—show her how we play monkeys!"

She jumped about with renewed vigor, the hooting turning to shrieking that Sarah had to admit was rather monkey-like. One of Chuck's hands twitched upward toward his ribcage, as though he wasn't sure he should join in or not. He sent Sarah a sheepish look.

The mortification should have stirred some sympathy, but instead Sarah inexplicably found herself grinning, her own humiliation forgotten. "Well, c'mon, show me how you play monkeys, Chuck."

Chuck narrowed his eyes at her. "Sorry, no can do."

"Aw, why not?" Violet frowned.

"Because it's not monkey time anymore." Chuck turned on his heel to face his daughter. "It's…" He paused dramatically, puffing up his chest. "Teeth time!"

Somehow, this was a cue for Violet to repeat after him and dart around her room, giggling as she dodged away from him. "But teeth time comes after bath time," she said. Sarah lifted her arms so that she wouldn't accidentally elbow Violet in the chin when the girl hid behind her. "Wait. Does that mean there's no bath time?"

Chuck sent Sarah an apologetic look as he brushed past her to scoop up Violet. "You get a one-day furlough, kid," he said in a fairly decent imitation of a 1930s gangster. "Use it wisely. After that? It's back to the big house for you. All bunks will be tossed, all cigs and other contraband thrown out. And don't even think about putting it behind that Rita Hayworth poster you think you're hiding from me."

"You're silly."

"And you're trouble. C'mon, let's go get those pearly whites shiny so you can tell Sarah good-night." Chuck toted his daughter from the room. Sarah wasn't sure if she should follow, so she stayed put, looking around. There were dolls—or were those action figures? She could never be sure—crowded onto the shelves next to giant picture books and stuffed animals. A white chest with violets painted on the front nudged up against the dresser. On the bed, she recognized the ill-named Bun-Bun keeping company with a much more ancient, bedraggled stuffed bear.

It made her think of an equally ancient giraffe she'd once had. Whatever had happened to that?

When Chuck and Violet emerged from the bathroom, Violet had changed into a pink nightgown with a cartoon character splashed across the front. She surprised Sarah by standing up on the bed and hugging her. "Good night, Miss Sarah," she said, unfailingly polite. "I'm glad you came over for dinner."

The words sounded rehearsed, which had to be why Sarah caught Chuck giving his daughter a thumbs up. She patted Violet on the back, only a little awkward. "I'm glad I came over for dinner, too. It was fun. We should do it again sometime."

"Really?" Violet immediately backed up to look at Sarah with wide eyes. "Really, truly?"

"Really, truly," Sarah said.

Violet cheered and flung herself down on the mattress, wriggling like a fish. "Yes," she said, holding her hands over her head like a runner doing a victory lap. Then she turned to Chuck, grinning. "Okay, I'm ready for my story now."

"That's my cue. I'll be out in a sec," Chuck said, obviously giving Sarah an escape route—one that she had absolutely no qualms about taking, and quickly. She wished Violet a good night and fled to the sitting room.

When Chuck joined her in the sitting room, he immediately moved over to a little fridge that had been stuck in the corner. "Sorry," he said as he pulled two bottles of water free. "Nighttime rituals tend to run long. Though I will have you know, even though I do monkey impressions with my kid, I have been informed by three people that I am actually quite cool."

"Chuck—"

"Granted, I think two of them were lying and the third wanted to borrow money from me. How are you feeling?"

Sarah gave him a baffled look as he handed her the bottle of water.

"You were tranqued? Shoved into a car trunk? That tends to stick with most people."

"Oh, right. No, I feel fine. Thanks for asking." It was the perfect opening to bring up Graham's phone call, but Sarah found her voice sticking. She cleared her throat and looked in the direction of Violet's room. "Did you get her all tucked in for the night?"

"It'll last twenty minutes before she gets up to get a drink of water, but for the most part, yes. No-bath nights are her favorite, and she knows how to compromise, so she tends to go down pretty easily." Chuck shrugged.

Having a set schedule like that—hell, knowing the habits, schedule, and care of another, smaller human being—was a completely foreign concept to Sarah. "Oh," she said. "She's very affectionate." Was that normal with four-year-olds?

"Yes, my shrinking Violet of a daughter, shyest in the land. Does that bother you? I can get her to tone it down."

"No, it's okay. I don't want to, ah, upset her." At least she'd caught Violet on the jump. Thank god for reflexes.

Chuck, on the other hand, frowned and twisted the cap of his water bottle in his hand, never fully removing it. He set the bottle on the coffee table. "Is something up? I kind of feel like you're stalling."

"It might need to wait until after Violet's really asleep."

"No, it's okay. We'll hear her if she tries to eavesdrop. She might be agile as a monkey—" Abruptly, Chuck grimaced and turned a dull red, which was far more endearing than Sarah wanted to admit. "—but she's actually the worst at sneaking up on people. This is also a skill, for the record, that I do not intend to foster. For my own sanity."

"If you say so." Still, the words wouldn't come. What she was about to say was going to irrevocably change everything about Chuck's life, and not necessarily for the better. Normally, she didn't mind delivering bad news to people: she'd grown good at it over various missions, as it was just one more thing required of being a spy. But right then, sitting on Chuck's couch, she absolutely did not want to say a word.

"What's wrong?" Chuck asked, a little line appearing between his eyebrows.

Sarah took a deep breath, and then another. "I got a call from my boss at dinner, an update on the Zarnow situation."

"He didn't get loose, did he?"

"No, they still have him in custody. As far as we can tell, he didn't get a look at you." Chuck really should have stayed in the car, though. Sarah didn't bother with a deep breath this time. She barreled onward. "They're not sending anybody else."

"What?"

"It's too dangerous, after what happened with Zarnow. Your identity is too valuable to them. So they're not going to risk sending another scientist to try and remove the Intersect."

"So…" Chuck put the water bottle down. "What, one guy's a traitor selling my secrets to North Korea and now they're going to give up?" His face traveled through a litany of emotions: disbelief, outrage, confusion, and finally the one that made Sarah ache a little—despair. "What are they going to do, just sit back and hope it fixes itself?"

"I don't think they expect it to fix itself."

Chuck opened his mouth and stopped. He swayed a little. "Are they—are we talking bunker, Sarah?"

"No," Sarah said, grabbing his wrist because she wasn't entirely sure he wasn't going to fall off of the couch. "No bunker. The bosses have to decided to station Casey and me here permanently. We'll keep protecting you and you'll occasionally be called to use the Intersect to help out with something. It's going to be okay."

Something she said must have struck home because Chuck's face closed off of all expression. He leaned forward and picked up one of the game controllers, making Sarah release his wrist. She said nothing as he turned the game controller over and over in his hands. "They do understand that I'm a person, right? That it's my _life_ they're destroying?"

"They know you're a person, Chuck," Sarah said, though she wasn't sure she believed what she was saying.

Chuck finally looked at her. "They just don't care."

"Look, I'll keep you safe—"

"For how long? Forever? Because right now, that's how long it feels like this thing is going to be in my head, Sarah."

"The bosses could change their minds."

"Will they?"

"I don't know. This is new territory for me."

"They put a computer in my head," Chuck said. "I didn't do anything but answer a stupid email and they put a computer in my head and now I'm supposed to keep their secrets and risk my life because they can apparently do everything _but_ take it out."

"For the record, I _am_ sorry about all of this."

"Yeah," Chuck said, his voice empty. "So am I, actually. So, what, what do we do now? You keep pretending to be my girlfriend and I continue lying to everybody I love?"

"We'll figure something out. I need to talk to Casey about it, for one thing. But it's going to be okay. We'll figure it out." Since there wasn't anything more she could say or questions that she could answer, Sarah pushed to her feet. "I should go and talk to Casey now, actually."

"Yeah," was all Chuck said, though his tone was flat, empty of all emotion. When he climbed to his feet, it was slowly and reluctantly. He followed her down the hall and toward the stairs.

"You know what sucks?" he said as they walked through the now-dark first floor.

Sarah could name a lot of things.

"I'm a computer programmer who's been turned into a live-action computer program. And it should seem so _cool_, but it just…" Chuck raised his hands in a helpless gesture.

She stopped at the porch. "Look. Take the night, get some sleep. If you have questions, I'll probably have more answers in the morning. But I mean it when I say we're going to keep you safe, okay? You have nothing to worry about there. I mean, look at tonight. Everything worked out for the best. Nobody got hurt, and we got to eat linguine."

"And the next time?" Chuck asked, looking distinctly and wholly unhappy.

"We worry about it next time."

"Yeah," Chuck said. "Well, today has been…a thing. I guess, good night."

"It's going to get better," Sarah told him, and headed outside. She felt him watching her like a weight behind her sternum, but she didn't look back. Her insides felt twisted and oily, infected by the utter despair she'd seen in Chuck's eyes. She might have been a spy, she might have had to break people before, but this was the worst part of the job for her.

She absolutely did not let herself wonder why it affected her at all. Part of her pointed out that Bryce was dead, that this could be clinical shock at his death. Per Graham's orders, she wasn't even allowed to attend the fake funeral the CIA had set up for him. So maybe her feelings about her partner's death were bleeding over and even transferring onto Chuck.

Maybe, but she doubted it.

The rest of her stayed quiet.

She let herself into the new, permanent base of Operation Intersect through the front door. The Cat Squad had never had a base. Her handlers had always met her in public, at cafés and places they wouldn't be overheard. But now she was on an operation where the base was in the suburbs and the main subject was trapped.

Though she stiffened when she saw Casey at the kitchen table, he only nodded in greeting. "You tell him?" he said.

"Yes."

"How'd he take it?"

Sarah nearly asked why he cared because she was pretty sure he didn't. But Casey was now her partner. Dreams of being away from the caustic NSA agent and his catty remarks about her female habits vanished in a puff of acidic smoke.

"About as well as can be expected," she said. She crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of wine. When Casey sneered, she rolled her eyes. "Don't start with me. It's been a long day."

"Well, don't be selfish, then."

Sarah got down a second glass. "Zarnow?"

"Handed him over. If he sees daylight again in the next twenty years, it's not my fault."

"How did he find the house?"

For a second, Casey's lips pulled to the left. He let out a long sigh. "Tracker," he said. "On the Crown Vic. I found it in the wheel well, so it looks like we both screwed up."

That explained why there hadn't been a jeering remark about her getting surprised by Zarnow. Sarah would have felt relieved, except they'd both missed something as elementary as a tracker. It wasn't a positive sign. She set down the glasses of wine on the table. "You deal with the bosses?"

"They chewed us both out, so you owe me one for taking that. We need to set up a briefing tomorrow with the asset and the bosses. I was thinking about setting it for eight."

Sarah mulled over it for a moment. "No, set it for ten thirty. Violet has her pre-K tomorrow, so Chuck will be free then."

"We can't schedule our lives around a small child."

"Our asset is the sole parent of a small child. If we want this to work peacefully, we're going to have to learn."

"I told you already, Walker, the job comes first."

"And how long is that going to last when Chuck is fighting us on every count? He's a good guy, but even you can tell he's not going to be a pushover where that little girl is concerned. And if they want us to make this more than a temporary thing, we need to get along."

"Are you asking me to hold hands and weave flower chains with a civilian, Walker?"

Sarah sipped her wine. "It's amazing that that's the first place your mind goes. Set the briefing for ten thirty. I'll send Chuck a text."

"I go from being in charge of security for the largest joint-op facility in the Agency to rescheduling my time around preschool," Casey said, scowling. "This op sucks."

"There's a lot of that going around."

"Tell me, do I have something to be worried about?"

She damned well wasn't going to let something like Zarnow surprising her happen again, Sarah thought, for the sake of her dignity alone. "What would you have to be worried about, Casey?"

"I heard the rumors about you and Larkin. You always get involved with your partners, Walker?"

Sarah finished her wine. "Don't flatter yourself," she said, deliberately keeping her movements casual as she placed the wineglass in the top rack of the dishwasher. "Bryce and I were just partners, anyway. You have nothing to worry about." You disgusting pig, she added in her head.

Casey's snort contained entire volumes of disbelief. "Good," he said. "Because try finding this sweet spot and you're going to need a dentist, sister."

Sarah gave in to the need to be immature and mimed retching into the sink. "While you get over yourself, I'm going to go to bed. You can do the perimeter sweep."

She waited until she was out of sight and in her bedroom to punch the wall. With that single release of tension out of the way, she showered, changed into pajamas, and laid down on top of her comforter. She didn't bother to run through the tricks she usually used to calm herself to sleep. Nor did she reach for her phone and scroll to the pictures of Bryce. She didn't want to think about him, not after his actions had stranded her in southern California.

She hadn't missed him—they'd gone months without contact before as part of the hazards of the job—until she'd realized he wasn't coming back and now everything was a mess. It felt tangled up inside of her in a way that she would never be able to sort out, which was not a feeling she relished. She'd become a spy to cut these things from her life. She had no desire to deal with sorting out her emotions over him and his betrayal on top of everything else: Chuck's misery, Casey's disgust, her own feelings of suddenly feeling horrible, inexplicably trapped in Los Angeles.

When she slept, she dreamed of being back at the dinner table, surrounded by Chuck and his family, only this time the dinner table was in a cage and Casey stood outside the bars, smugly tossing a key from one hand to the other. Behind him, Bryce looked at her with something akin to apology in his eyes, though he only turned and walked away when she called out to him.

Sarah woke with the feeling of sweat cold on her skin.

* * *

"Why are you dressing up?"

Getting ready in the morning usually meant pulling on a T-shirt (usually with a nerdy logo on the front) and jeans and focusing more on getting Violet's hair up in some kind of style, but this morning, Chuck stood in front of the floor-length mirror in Violet's room to adjust his tie. "I have a client meeting," he said.

"But what if it goes bad and your client wants to strangle you?" Violet looked genuinely concerned.

"Where did you—oh, right." Apparently she had taken his joke about Morgan and not wearing ties on first dates to heart. Chuck gave her a smile in the mirror that he didn't feel. He didn't think he would feel like smiling for a long time. "Don't worry. I'll run and get away if they try to strangle me with my tie."

"Good. Because you're really fast."

"Oh yeah?" The knot was still crooked. Chuck adjusted it in frustration. "How fast?"

"Almost as fast as Uncle Awesome, duh." Violet kicked her legs up, watching her tiny Crocs swing back and forth over the rug. "I never win at races."

"Someday, you will. We will all bow before the mighty Queen Megabyte as she runs circles around us."

"Queen Megabyte. I like the sound of that."

His tie was as good as it was going to get. "Oh, is that so?" He turned and grabbed the briefcase he used when he wanted to impress clients, a gift that Ellie and Awesome had given him the day he had started freelancing. "Well, right now you're still a peasant like the rest of us, so no getting too big for your britches."

"When I grow up, I'm going to be really tall, even taller than you and Uncle Awesome because I drink all of my milk."

"How tall?"

"Twelve feet tall!" Violet scampered ahead of him on the stairs, her little Dora the Explorer backpack bumping up and down as she ran. "No, twenty! No, wait—fifty! I'll be fifty feet tall because I'll drink gallons and gallons of milk. That's, like, the tallest human, ever, right?"

"Fifty feet? Your head will be in space!"

"Won't that be _neat_? I'll wave at all of the rocket ships." She spread her arms out like an airplane and made zooming noises, running around the kitchen while he fetched a can of Coke for himself and her snack-box for pre-K. When he waved her over, she obediently stood still long enough for him to put the box and permission slip for a trip to the fire station the next week in the backpack. "What did Aunt Ellie make for me?"

"Guess you'll have to find out at snack time. C'mon, Space-a-Byte, let's march."

Nerves flooded him after he'd dropped off Vi at pre-K. He'd lied to his daughter about meeting a client. Or maybe he hadn't. He couldn't be sure. After Sarah had left the night before, he'd given in to a good—well, there wasn't any point about calling it anything other than a sulk. He'd played _Zero Wing_ until his vision had blurred, and then he'd lain awake, staring at his ceiling for hours, replaying his conversation with Sarah over and over in his head. They weren't going to send any more scientists. He was the Intersect permanently.

At four a.m., the epiphany had struck: he had a computer in his head. A computer somebody had designed to be processed by a human brain. And that meant that somebody had programmed it specifically for that purpose.

And if there was one person that understood programming, it was Charles I. Bartowski.

So he strode up to Sarah and Casey's house in his Impressing New Clients suit, carrying his briefcase and wishing his hair was just a little less stupid. It was hot, but he'd already sweated through the shirt anyway, so that hardly seemed to matter.

Casey answered the door and looked down at Chuck's shoes and then back to Chuck's face, eyebrows going high. "You get lost and wander into an insurance salesman convention, Bartowski?"

"I'm meeting the bosses. I'd like to make a good impression."

He expected a wisecrack, but Casey just stepped aside to let him in. "Might have a brain in your head after all."

"As ever, I cherish your high opinion of me." Chuck knew he was coming off a lot testier than he should, but he hadn't slept and the nerves felt like snakes snapping about in his stomach. "Where are they?"

"D.C.," Casey said. "Teleconference in a couple of minutes. We've set up the den for it."

The place looked a lot different now that it had been unpacked and wasn't full of boxes, Chuck thought as he followed Casey into the den. The decorations were utterly generic and uninteresting, save for the framed picture of Ronald Reagan on the mantle.

"That's, uh, nice," Chuck said.

"You got something to say against the Gipper?"

"No, nothing at all. Great president. Great…guy." Chuck turned as Sarah came in. "Uh, hi."

"Hi. Nice suit." Before he really knew what was happening, she'd stepped into his personal space to fix the tie. He would have backed away in fear except that Casey's snort made both of them look over. "Yes, Major Casey, what is it now?"

"Headquarters is calling," Casey said, pointing at the TV.

"Here we go." They turned to face the TV screen, and the snakes in Chuck's stomach squirmed harder. The pair on the screen surprised him, but then he didn't know what he had been expecting. The woman wore stars on her shoulders—oh, god, he was really in over his head—and the man had on a suit as sharp as the look on his face.

"General, Director," Casey said. "Your asset, as ordered. Chuck Bartowski, civilian. Chuck, that's General Beckman and Director Graham." _And you will be respectful,_ his tone finished for him.

Chuck swallowed hard. "Hi," he said. "It's nice to meet you." It wasn't, really, but what was he supposed to say? Thanks for not guarding your property enough to keep it out of my head and therefore ruin my life?

"Mr. Bartowski." The woman's voice dripped disapproval in every note. "We have some things to discuss about your future."

The tone had probably sent subordinates and underlings scampering for years, but Chuck instead felt his hackles rise. "I want to say one thing first—anything that goes on with me or with the thing you irresponsibly left in my head, my daughter stays out of it."

"You're not in the position to be giving orders, Mr. Bartowski." Graham crossed his arms over his chest. He seemed to be looming over General Beckman, who was sitting down, like they were talking through a webcam.

"Even so. My daughter stays out of it."

"Or what?" Graham seemed amused now.

Sparks of fury began to cluster at the edges of Chuck's vision. "Or—"

Something stepped on his foot. When he looked at Sarah, though, she was calmly facing the screen. "Director, if I may? Chuck is concerned about his daughter's safety. Does he have any reason to be?"

"None whatsoever. We're only interested in the Intersect, Mr. Bartowski," Graham said.

"Actually." Beckman frowned. "I'm a little interested why you felt you had to dress up and bring a briefcase to a classified briefing, Mr. Bartowski. I hope we're not keeping you from a business meeting."

"Oh, uh." Every other person in the briefing turned to look at him. Chuck suddenly had a flash that he was standing there in his underwear, being judged. He juggled the briefcase so that he could dig into it. "No meeting, General. At least, not one somewhere else. I brought this because I have a proposal for you. I, uh, it's what I bring to show to prospective clients."

"You have a proposal." Beckman sat back. "And you thought to open with an ultimatum?"

Okay, Chuck thought, that might have been a bad move. He met the General's eyes. "My daughter is the most important thing in my life," he said. "Do you have children? Because if you do, you'll understand. I just want her safe. But here, I have stuff. Stuff I brought to show you."

"What are you doing?" Casey asked under his breath as Chuck pulled his presentation folder out of the briefcase.

"Sarah—Agent Walker told me last night that you weren't planning to send another scientist out to try and take the Intersect out of my brain. And I get your reasoning, I do—don't get me wrong. I don't want my identity getting out either, and given my druthers, I'd rather not be sold to North Korea. But I don't think you want this thing in my head any more than I do and short of it breaking down completely—which I really don't want to happen—it's not going anywhere."

"Bartowski, get to the point," Casey said.

"The point is," Chuck said. "This thing in my head, it's nothing but a computer. My brain is the hardware and somewhere, somebody coded data into a machine that could be translated by my neurons or synapses or whatever. It's, in short, a computer program. And I am really good at writing computer programs. I think, if I had a piece of the code used to create the Intersect, I could deconstruct it."

"And do what with it?" Graham asked.

"And take it out," Chuck said. "That's all I want to do. I want it gone, and I'll do anything I can to have it out of my head."

"Do you really think we're going to trust a civilian with that kind of secret, Mr. Bartowski?" General Beckman asked.

"Uh," Chuck said.

Sarah, beside him, cleared her throat. "Chuck kind of has a point, General. Not to take sides, but he's already got most of the secrets in his head."

The sour moue on Beckman's face painted a picture of how exactly unhappy she was about that fact.

"The Intersect facility was blown up, Mr. Bartowski," Graham said. "I'm afraid all of it was lost."

"All of it? Nobody had a back-up of a single file anywhere? I don't need much. Just a couple of files. It'll take time, but I can deconstruct code from that." Chuck belatedly remembered he was holding his presentation packet. "Look, this is what I give to my clients. It's details of programs I've put together before, how I approach a project, what's involved. It's got a little bit of my history, what languages I know, though I have to figure by now you know everything there is to know about my life anyway. Ironically, the only secrets I have are in the Intersect."

Nobody denied it, Chuck noticed.

"I don't know if I'm actually capable of deconstructing the Intersect. I imagine you had a think-tank of geniuses working on it and writing the code, but I'd like a chance. I don't have much of a choice about anything right now, so I'd really, really like a chance."

The bosses looked at each other, but Chuck couldn't determine enough to know anything about what that meant. "We'll discuss the matter," Graham said for the both of them. "Since you've brought up your daughter and secrets, however, we do have one question."

Chuck went still. "Yes?"

"Is there any reason why we can't find a single record of her birth?"

"Uh, no." Panic rose. "We filed her birth certificate when she was born and everything. I've got copies of all of the paperwork and her medical records, and I assure you, she's very real." Violet wasn't in the system anywhere? That was downright strange. Sure, Sophie had managed to keep the fact that she had a daughter hidden from the paparazzi, but Chuck didn't think that went as far as deleting Violet's birth certificate from the records. Was that going to cause trouble further down the road? He hadn't had any trouble enrolling her in Pre-K or on his health insurance, though. What was going on?

"It might just be a computer glitch," Beckman said. "You didn't delete the records yourself? I'm told you have some skills in computer hacking."

"No, ma'am. Why would I? I mean, I don't put pictures of her on Facebook or anything, but that's just because I don't trust Zuckerberg."

"We will look into it. Very well, let's move on to the point of today's briefing, which is to discuss the future of this operation, and the goals we have for it." From the way Casey and Sarah both shifted to get more comfortable, Chuck noticed, it was going to be a long meeting. Feeling exhausted and now completely confused, he settled in to do the same. He'd been hoping that his proposal would go a lot better than that.

* * *

After Beckman and Graham signed off, Chuck seemed to deflate in on himself. The suit was a little rumpled and his tie was still askew. It made him look, in that moment, like a defeated man, and Sarah's heart hurt.

Casey, on the other hand, clapped him on the shoulder before walking away. He was whistling. The Casey who'd lamented being put on this operation was long gone, mostly because Beckman had promised them a larger budget for firepower. Casey was a man of simple wants.

As for her, she felt a little better than she had the night before, but everything was still a little too raw for her liking. And she hated seeing Chuck this way. "Want some coffee?" she asked.

"It's that obvious that I need it, huh?" He gave her a feeble sort of half-smile.

"It was a good pitch," she said. And it had been, except for the babbling. "And you took initiative. They appreciate that sort of thing more than you know." Actually, she'd had most of her initiative drilled out of her in training. Spies obeyed orders. They were only allowed to get creative in the field, so going off book against a superior officer was one of the greatest offenses. But Chuck was a civilian, so surely they had to take that into account.

"I guess. They didn't look impressed." He immediately peeled off the suit jacket and loosened his tie. "I hate client meetings. I always feel twelve. Like I put on my big boy suit and now it's time to pretend to be a grown-up."

"That was a client meeting?"

"Same tone, it fits." When she gestured, he took a seat at the table and laid his forehead on it. "They're not going to go for it. I saw their faces."

"You never know, Chuck. It was a good proposal. It was clear you knew what you were talking about."

"Yeah, well, computers I understand. It's the humans where I trip up." He lifted his head when she placed a mug of coffee by it. "Thanks. I didn't get much sleep."

"Me either," Sarah surprised herself by confessing. "It's a weird situation, all around. And it'll take some time to get used to."

Chuck grimaced. "Unfortunately. I just want to kick Zarnow a few times, though."

"Get in line."

"I mean, did he have to screw it up so bad for us? Couldn't he have just kicked a puppy to get his evil in for the day?"

Sarah laughed. "Kicked a puppy, really?"

"Well, yeah."

"Why don't you go home and relax some? Take a nap or something if you're so tired."

Chuck grimaced. "Can't. Gotta finish the database I was working on yesterday. If I hurry, I can get in an hour of work before I have to go pick up Vi at pre-K. Once she's home, it's harder to work and it's so hot today that I'll have to keep her inside. Thanks for the coffee, though. And the support."

"Anytime," Sarah said. She walked him to the door before an idea occurred to her. "Hey, I don't remember if you said, but can Violet swim?"

"Of course. I know it's bragging, but she _was_ the queen of her tadpole class. And she didn't even try to drown one of the other students, unlike some of her classmates." Chuck grinned at her. "Psychopaths start early, apparently."

"Uh, wow."

"Don't worry. It all worked out in the end. Why do you ask?"

"Well, we got the pool filled. If you need a break, you're welcome to use it."

"Seriously?" Chuck asked.

"It's there, and we're all in this together. So why not? Just send me a text if you're coming over. I could use some sun."

"You could use some—" Chuck looked like he was briefly in danger of swallowing his tongue. She raised her eyebrows, but he shook his head like a dog emerging from a pond. "Okay, yeah. Yeah, actually that sounds like a great idea. I could use a break, and Vi loves to swim. You realize this is only going to make you more of a hero in her eyes? You may earn goddess-like status."

"It shows that she's got good taste."

"You're so modest, Sarah Walker. I like that about you. But, yeah, the world of coding calls. I'll text if we come over." Chuck wiggled his fingers at her in farewell and walked off, briefcase tucked under one arm and jacket slung across the opposite shoulder. Sarah waited a second before she closed the door—and was absolutely not surprised to see Casey behind her when she turned.

"Inviting the asset and his kid for a swimming date, huh?" he asked, eyebrows up.

"It's not a date, it's swimming."

"In very little clothing."

"You seem awfully worried about my sex life, Casey. Doth the gentleman protest too much?" Sarah rolled her eyes at him and moved around him to go back to grab her coffee. Chuck wasn't the only one with work to do. Casey followed her. "Did you need something?"

"What do you think about the asset working on the Intersect?"

"I think it's great," Sarah said. "It's obvious that the bosses aren't going to send anybody else, and who knows if they're doing anything to actually remove it, so if Chuck wants to take a crack it, why not? It'll keep him from feeling helpless, which I'm pretty sure is how he's feeling right now."

"You seem to care about his feelings quite a bit, Walker."

Sarah sighed. "Did you need something? Because I have a report about last night to write up if you don't."

"Just wanted your take for when Beckman calls." Casey paused, his hands stuck in his pockets. "Never had an asset volunteer to do something like this before."

"Yeah, and?"

"Nothing. Just noticing. Maybe he'll get us out of here faster."

"Maybe he will," Sarah said.

"Better hope he doesn't. I'm not the one who'll end up married to him if we're here for that long."

The room's temperature dropped to subarctic. "You're such an ass," Sarah said.

"Looking forward to our long-term partnership, too, Walker." And Casey strode out, whistling some tune Sarah didn't recognize. She stared after him in fury, keeping a clamp on the same messy emotions that had threatened to overwhelm her the night before. This was absolutely not going to last as long as Casey predicted. She was going to be out of Chuck's life, and by extension Violet's, long before the time came where she would have to hurt both of them.

She hoped.

* * *

Chuck hadn't meant to take Sarah up on her offer of using the pool. For one thing, it was a little weird. They'd just started "dating" not that long ago and repeatedly spending time together was going to send his family the message that they were already becoming codependent. But Violet woke up from her afternoon nap bubbling with energy, and day's temperature was amazingly hot for September. Keeping her inside seemed far too cruel.

And frankly, if Sarah was going to be at the pool, maybe she'd have a bikini. She might have been—well, Graham had called her his handler—his handler and not his girlfriend, but frankly, he wasn't dead. He was simply imprisoned by the thing in his head, and that did not affect his eyesight at all.

So, loaded up with Violet's pool toys (the large diving coins they'd been collecting for a couple of years), a foam noodle, several inflatable hippos Ellie had bought her, and their towels, he followed his daughter across the lawns between the houses. "Come around back," Sarah had texted to him, so he went straight to the gate. "Remember the rules?" he asked Violet.

"Yes, of course, can we swim now?"

"Patience, Padawan. I want to hear it from your lips first." Violet mumbled something. Chuck cupped a hand around his ear. "Sorry, must be getting old. I didn't quite catch that."

"No running by the pool and when Miss Sarah says we're done, we're done."

"And?"

"And you and Miss Sarah are the ultimate bosses and I have to listen to you both or you'll feed me to a witch like Hansel and Gretel."

God, his kid was smart. That was almost verbatim. "Very good," Chuck said, and swung the gate open. "Let's go make sure you're not witch-treats."

Violet stepped into the yard and made it two steps before she let out a gasp of heavenly delight. "Major Casey Sir!" she said, and streaked across the grass.

"Violet Eleanor!" Two steps. She'd made it two steps before the rules had vanished. Guiltily, she stopped and whirled ten feet short of Casey, who was lounging on one of the pool chairs with a magazine. "What did we _just_ talk about? You're not supposed to be running."

"But it's grass."

"Do we need to go home? Because we will, right now."

"No!" Panic rose clearly on her face. "No, we don't have to go home. I'll be good. No more running, I promise. Can I say hi to Major Casey Sir?"

Chuck held her gaze for a few seconds, just to be sure. "Okay," he said. "Go say hi to Casey. But if he says you're bothering him, you have to leave him alone."

"But—"

"Megabyte, you're pushing my buttons."

"Sorry," Violet said, her voice a whisper. Ever the manipulator, she bounced up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. The pout she gave him was impressive. "I won't do it again, I swear."

"Good. Go on with you."

Violet very carefully did not run as she made a beeline for Casey.

"Wow, that was a dad voice if I ever heard one," said a voice behind him.

"Occupational hazard," Chuck said, keeping an eye on Violet as she chattered at Casey, who did not look at all like he was interested. That would only make Violet try harder. But it didn't look like anything that might blow up soon, so he turned.

His tongue just about fell out of his head.

Sarah had indeed, thank the heavens, worn a bikini for the occasion. It was purple and while it was more modest than some of the ones he'd seen on his infrequent beach days with Violet, it definitely showed a lot of skin. A lot of elegantly smooth skin, and legs that went on for ages. For a second, he forgot that there was an English language, let alone how to use it.

"Chuck?" Sarah asked.

Through herculean effort, he managed to stop staring. "Uh," he said. "Hi."

She laughed. "Hi. Glad you could come over."

"Well, if this Intersect project comes with pool privileges and bikinis, I can't say it's all bad," Chuck said before he could stop himself. "I mean—"

"I don't think you'd look that great in a bikini, no offense." Sarah's eyes seemed amused.

Chuck let out a breath of relief at the olive branch she'd just offered. "I could look awesome in a bikini," he said. They walked toward the pool together, Sarah holding her tray of lemonade and him carrying Violet's assorted pool toys. "You never know."

"Hm. Maybe you should just leave that part to me."

"Gladly," Chuck said, and nearly facepalmed as he jumped right back into the hole he'd dug himself out of. He bought himself time by unloading the pool toys beside one of the chairs. On the other side of the pool, Violet was still chattering away.

"Hey, uh, I just got off the phone with Graham," Sarah said.

Chuck's stomach twisted into three very tight, very precise knots. "And?"

"And he's agreed to send over some files they found. Intersect files."

"Just like that?" Chuck said.

"I told you it was a good proposal."

A weight he hadn't realized he'd been carrying lifted from his shoulders. Suddenly, it wasn't that awful. Hell, it was kind of great, almost. He did have the Intersect in his head, but it was a little hard to be down about that when the sky was that unreal shade of blue, Sarah Walker was wearing a bikini, and Chuck had an opportunity to fix the mess that Bryce Larkin had dragged him into.

For the first time in over a week, he breathed easier.

"Wow," he said, meaning it. "That's great."

"It's not all that bad, right?" Sarah asked. He didn't expect to see the uncertainty lurking in her expression now. It was gone in a blink, but he hadn't imagined it. Sarah was looking for some assurance, just like he was, he realized.

It wasn't hard to smile. "No, it's not all bad."

"Good," she said. "We just need to remember there are positives, too. For all of us. Well, maybe not Casey."

"And we don't care what Casey thinks."

"Except that he's about to get his ear talked off by your daughter. You should probably rescue him."

She had a point, Chuck thought. So he shrugged and peeled off his shirt, so that he was only wearing his swim trunks. "Guess I should," he said. "Might want to back up unless you want to get wet, though."

"I think I can handle it."

"Your funeral. Hey, Megabyte." The last, he called across the pool. Violet whipped about guiltily as he walked over. "You're in so much trouble, young lady."

"Finally," Casey said under his breath. "Took you long enough, Bartowski."

"What'd I do?"

"You're still dry," Chuck said. "Don't you know the rules?"

Violet squinted. "What rules? That's not any rule!"

"It is now." And Chuck scooped up Violet, leaving her towel on the ground.

"Daddy, no!"

"Might want to hold your nose."

"Oh, no—"

Chuck took a running leap as Violet shrieked, half out of happiness and half out of fear. They hit the water with a giant splash that drenched Casey and most of the concrete apron around the pool. When they surfaced, Chuck heard laughter from Violet and Sarah. He slicked his hair back and, warm from the California sunshine, thought, no, it wasn't all that bad.

**The End**

* * *

**A/N the Last**: Have you checked my profile for stories that might not be posted on ff-net? See you in Carina's story, folks. Stay sexy!


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